A Swifter Appraisal
by Jeccelo
Summary: A Bluetara AU. Year 1791. Katara and Sokka are the wealthy children of Count Hakoda, forced to befriend the distasteful royal brats Zuko and Azula. But many things change when instead Katara befriends a mysterious boy in a blue mask.
1. An Unexpected Fabrication

**A SWIFTER APPRAISAL**

A Bluetara AU

by Jeccelo

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Home - Daughtry

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**A/N**: Remember how i said i would probably change the title from the Preface? Well, yeah, i did. This is still "These Whispered Hours". The theme is "Home" by Daughtry (duh), in a sort of ironic sense... but that isn't explained until the end! ;). Enjoy!! Reviews are cookies!

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1: An Unexpected Fabrication

_Year 1791, Republic of Avatyral_

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She reached out and touched the warm laugh lines in the corners of her father's eyes, just because she adored them.

"Why does Sokka not have these?" she wondered, tracing her tiny finger along the whisper-thin crevices.

Her father smiled and wrapped his fingers about her own. His hand was colossal beside hers yet they fit together snugly, like breakfast bread baked around a hidden chocolate center.

"Sokka is not yet eleven," he explained. "He still has many laughs to go."  
"Will I get them?"  
"Maybe when you're old like I am."  
"You're not old," she said, giggling. "Kana is old."  
"Kana is quite young," her father corrected matter-of-factly. "Remember, it's usually impolite to point out age, unless when referring to little children."

"Father... was Kana your nurse when you were young like me?"  
"No, no. I had a nurse named Hemna."

"Was she nice like Kana is?"

"She was indeed."  
"Will my children have nurses like Kana?"  
"I suppose they will, but it is your choice whether to hire one or not."  
"Father... why did you hire Kana for Sokka and I?"  
"Because when your mother passed away, I knew I would need help raising you two."  
"Was mother as good as Kana is at raising children?"  
"Your mother was an expert. I only wish she could see what beautiful people you are becoming."  
"Father... was mother old like Kana?"  
"No, darling. She was young and exuberant."  
"What did she look like?"

Her father's eyes deepened in memory. "She looked just like you, Katara, with warm skin the color of the hussle wood and long hair that hung in black ringlets."  
"Was she beautiful?"  
"Yes, love, a trait she has passed to you."  
Katara smiled. "Will I be like Mother when I am older?"  
"I certainly hope so." Her father leaned over the covers to kiss her small forehead. "Now let's get some sleep so that we are well fortified to meet the Prince tomorrow."  
"Will he be coming here?"  
"Yes, love."  
"His whole family?"  
"Shhh. Yes. Sleep now. You do not want to be drowsy at the party, do you?"  
"No, sir."  
"No indeed."  
She cuddled back against the pillow, content. "Goodnight, Father."  
"Goodnight, darling."  
Her drooping eyes could not lift to his figure, so she instead watched his shadow as it receded down the carpet, cutting into the square of gold light from the hallway. Slowly the light was sliced away until the faint click of her door told her he had left. She felt her eyelids' relief and she sighed, falling into peaceful slumber.

It had not been an hour before, for some strange reason, she awoke. The room seemed wet and unstable, meshes of black and blue, and she worked to focus the sleep clouding her vision. She thought she had heard the faintest gasp of breath, like a whispered awe, but her window was open and the breeze was fluttering in every other minute, making all sorts of sighs and whistles on the bellies of her curtains.

She was about to lull herself back to sleep when she caught a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye; the corner of a shadow lifted, a subtle shift in the patterns of moonlight stretched across her wall. Thinking of nocturnal birds come to pay respects to her bedroom, she turned beneath her covers with a calming smile...

But alas, it was no bird; it was far too big to be a bird, and too angularly shaped to be a raccoon or a fox. It's crouch was not that of relaxation but was as tense as the sharpened silence. The searing moonlight pressing against it's back darkened any peticular features of it's face, so she did not comprehend that it was a human being until...

Some abrupt sound she had not heard caused the figure to bristle and spin it's head over it's shoulder. As she stared closer and closer with increasing curiosity she could see the faintest outlines of dark eyelashes rotating up and down: the figure searched the darkness, scanning the distant wood that blanketed the neighboring mountains...

The wind died down and she heard the gasping sound again, and watched the small, tense shoulders lift and drop in anxious breaths. Yet however frightened the small figure appeared to be, Katara felt nothing but interest, a mild, pleasant confusion. Indeed, it was a strange dream she was having.

And then she heard them: voices, very distant and muffled yet distinguishable through the nighttime silence. They seemed to bounce in and out of the trees... there were several of them, all moving together, always in motion, growing closer...

Her heart leapt in surprise as suddenly the figure darted from her window sill into her room. It's dark, petty mass was completely swallowed in the blackness of the corner.

Katara lurched upright in bed, searching for it. She could hear the breathing, the nervous panting.

"Who's there?" she asked. Her heart was picking up pace.

"Are they gone?" a small, trembling voice whispered. Katara leaned forward, squinting into the darkness...

Like a clap of thunder, the voices burst in volume, talking louder to eachother now, perhaps arguing. They may have been just below her second-story window.

And like the lightning that follows, the black figure brushed across the indigo-lighted floor of her room, streaking into the moonlight and freezing there as if afraid to move again. Katara stared in wonder...

It was a boy. He looked no older than herself, with pale skin that glowed like pearl in the glare of the moon. He quickly wet his rounded lips, eyes darting from the window to her own. She could make out the perspiration glimmering on his brow, the frantic edge in his eyes. He was clad entirely in black: a low-collared shirt with flowing sleeves; his small, flexed hands wearing leather gloves into which his sleeves were tucked; night-colored trousers tucked in the same fashion into boots and a belt around his waist at which she could see, just by his crouched position, the sparkle of a dagger's hilt.

But the thing that entranced her the most... was the blue mask set across his eyes. It was an intricate craft; it looked sculpted of clay and painted with the most beautiful cobalt color she had ever seen. Silver outlined the eye holes, the strokes twisting in unique patterns out towards the ends of the mask. Two horns were carved there like giant eyelashes, with smaller ones jutting from beneath, the fantastical depiction of a butterfly's wings. As a whole the article was gorgeous and awfully intimidating.

Though the boy's personage was unusual it was rightly so, though frightening it was peaceful and harmless. Katara felt all the awe and security of the world ignite her heart while it raced with alarm and growing fear.

"Which way? Which way did he go?"

Both she and the boy flinched; the voices from below were burly, growls from the throats of grown men. The earth creaked and crackled with their footsteps, pine cones and fallen branches crushed beneath heels; the brushing sound of shrub and bush being swept aside. A deadly clicking reverberated above the natural echoes: Katara identified the setting of a pistol barrel. She clutched the edges of her quilt with whitening knuckles. To her far right, the boy had not moved, petrified in the spotlight of the window.

The voices rumbled again.

"I... Damn Agni. Loss'im."  
"Probably just heard a rabbit, old cloth ears."  
"Nuh, nuh, it was 'im, i'was the whelp."

"There are rebels crawling all o're the valley," a new voice agreed. "I saw him. I saw the lad, every black and blue inch of him."

Suddenly a new scraping of steps rounded the corner of the house: someone was using the pathway as was the proper way to explore the garden, though the husky voices below were not those Katara would expect to act properly.

The pistols clicked in alarm, and she could picture them all slapped in the one direction of the footsteps...

But then the men below grunted and gasped, new sounds of snapping and fidgeting reaching her ears as they straightened their backs, pulled their feet together.

One stammered, "Y-Your Grace---"  
"Is my garden interfering with your duties, Mr. Freer?"  
Katara's heart swelled as she heard the gentle, inquiring voice of her father. All would be well now, she knew that for certain.

And the name... Mr. Freer...

"Jet's father..." she whispered to herself.

"Not at all, Count Watson," a new voice, smoother and younger than the rest, replied. Freer. Katara pictured a handsome, stony face below a gently drawn hood, molding it in her mind after the pattern of a face she already knew, the charismatic features of the man's son. "Please forgive our intrusions---"  
"Another suspect on the run, I presume?" her father asked.

Mr. Freer chuckled. "Why, yes, Your Grace. A child, rather quick for our eyes."  
"If that be the case, are there any youth hunters to match their swiftness?"  
"Well, no, sir, we would not want to... _dilute_ our precarious work with fainter hearts."

"Indeed it is precarious. The child fled in the direction of my home, then?"  
"Yes, sir, he did. Upon our word. We meant no disturbance, only to apprehend one that did. I am sorry you had to come investigate."

"Oh, the air is fresh, I mind little. Hm... Well, the lad would not hide about my plot for long. You may as well return to your posts; he is lost to the night."  
"Your Grace..." Mr. Freer's voice strained with opposition that he expertly began to hide, "our specialty is ensnaring those rebels clad in darkness. When else do they appear? Rarely in the light of day, if not ever. If we fall back now, our competence in their eyes will slacken. Please allow us to hunt a little more, sir. We would not want anything too dangerous slipping past our nets."

Katara waited through the brief moment of silence like the men she now knew as the Rebel Snatchers did, shifting their feet and tinkering with their pistols.

"Very well," her father said finally. "But please, do not hesitate to use the pathway, after all, it's there for your service." He said it in a suggestive tone, chiding them from tramping in the garden behind an oral disguise of generosity.

"Of course, Your Grace," Mr. Freer said, and Katara could imagine his graceful bow. "Thank you, and again, our apologies."

"Good luck," her father murmured, and the sounds of boots on stone slowly fading to the west end of the house told Katara they were leaving.

Had her father not intervened, she probably would not have had the courage to throw aside her quilt and dash to the window. Silently, she peered down to watch the tall, lean figure of the Count turn and make his way back around the corner to the front steps.

When she heard the sound of the oak doors close, Katara turned quickly back into her bedroom, standing so as to cast an elongated shadow of her nightgown, head, and arms across the carpeted floor.

"Boy?" she whispered. "Are you still here?"  
It had indeed occurred to her that the boy was the rebel child those Snatchers had been searching for. Yet she could not have brought herself to give his position away, not when the men who sought him seemed so cold, and in contrast, the boy's breathing pulled strings in her heart.

And, above all, he was a child. What harm could a child do? Why Sokka himself, the brag that never ceased, would cower when presented with a fox or a badger to sleigh while trekking in the woods. Their furry faces and inquisitive eyes would get the better of him.

So it was decided in Katara's heart that the boy was unjustly hunted, that surely the Snatchers were being overcautious. Hunting and shooting children! It was unthinkable.

From the corner of her bed, she saw the startling blue mask appear first. A ribbon of silver light flashed across it's surface, igniting the child's eyes for a brief moment. Their gaze held fast through the heavy air that separated them. Katara felt the breeze scurry under her arm and watched it ripple dark bangs on the boy's brow.

His fair lips were next to enter the light, until his narrow neck and shoulder followed quickly after. He was a ghost, a phantom from some lost dream. She could not identify how she knew him, how he seemed so real yet nothing more than a humanoid assembly of magical dust.

His steps were slow and cautious as he moved around her bed post. Every step he took only maximized the anxiety in his eyes, until it pulled from her lips the reassuring words,

"They're gone. Don't be afraid."  
He blinked, a simple meeting of eyelash to eyelash from the finely carved peepholes of the mask.

Carefully she moved away from the window, allowing him an exit.

And before her eyes, before the wind could touch his sleeves, he was gone, out the window and down to the garden many feet below by some means she could not decipher.

How swift he was, how agile. She leaned her head out the window in an attempt to spot him and succeeded only for a moment: he was a flickering shadow in the tall, dark grass, moving at top speed towards the birth of the forest until into them he vanished. Not a patch of light was shifted, not a shadow bent. He blended flawlessly against the trees.

Katara moved backwards to her bed, out of the moonlight and the chilly breeze, back amidst the soft, caressing warmth of her quilt.

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_When I awoke the next morning, I was so sure it had been nothing but a dream... and I was soon to be proven wrong._

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**A/N**: yay, chapter one. XD Mega short, but to-the-point, and they're sometimes better that way. Hope you liked it! Please Review!!!

And i know you pretty much got this same thing in the teaser, but don't think the whole fic will be like this cuz it WON'T. lol. It gets so much better as it moves along so keep reading!


	2. The Royal Brats

2: The Royal Brats

_Father had often talked of the day when Sokka and I would meet and befriend the children of the Prince. Prince Ozai was his name, and a popular a name it was. My father Hakoda and the dashing Ozai had been fast friends in childhood, and so had the typical ambition to unite their children in that same lifelong bond._

_However, the idea was taken by Sokka and I with a measurable sense of skepticism. Though it was only normal for children of our age to be shy or hesitant upon meeting unfamiliar peers, the fact of their royalty was a healthy stumbling block in any progression of friendship. We were not intimidated by their birth rank; on the contrary, it lessened our expectations by a large amount. Allow me to elaborate on a few traits one can only expect from their type: Firstly, children of royalty are dull, pasty people with little to say because apparently they think any other source of life in their vicinity is hardly worth their time and energy._

_Secondly, they are outrageously defensive and proud of their parents, who, with few exceptions, are rather unimpressive people with no more credibility than exquisite dress and a famous name._

_And thirdly, when finally words have been choked from their steely lips, the only compliments that escape them are those set to put themselves in superior wit and degrade any others, thus casting an awkward silence over the surrounding company and unknowingly decreasing their own popularity._

_You may ask how I knew those crucial details when I was just upon meeting my first pair of royal children. I will save time and say only this: intuition and alertness. It seemed their very souls had odors, leaking through the large, oak doors of our Hall towards my bedroom where I could detect, before I had ever seen them, the disappointment I was doomed to entertain. And once I saw their white, silent faces, one wretchedly smug and the other unresponsive stone, my theory of royal brats was only to be supported._

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With fearless, pudgy fingers she snatched up the soft, squishy puff ball and began her assault. Not a fleck of rouge was spared: she used every tactic in the book, smearing legato, smashing forte, batting staccato, dipping marccato... Coincidentally, she hummed her favorite waltz that, by another coincidence, was echoing muddily through the floor from the downstairs Grand Hall. The music excited her more and she only hurried her feminine preparations. The hand mirror she held--- training her wrist to have delicate posture--- was dusty with powder. Nonetheless, she finished blushing her cheeks until they were as pink as spring petunias, and she tossed the tools aside to examine her efforts.

Next, the lips. She fumbled the brush at first but managed to catch it up before too much blood-red paint got on the counter. She leaned forward with determined, narrow eyes, holding her operating arm still at the elbow while she meticulously applied the paint. Over the curves of her lips... the feel was cold and clammy and she instinctively licked it off. With a huff, she tried again.

Bumps and trembles here and there put spots along her chin, but she didn't mind. It didn't look so bad up close.

She had skipped the eye make-up, not trusting her ability to avoid gouging herself. It was risky buisness, preparing for a ball.

Satisfied, she stood back on the stool to assess the final product... and instantly frowned.

The rouge on her cheeks was so layered it would takes years to erode, and it had already started to make her cheeks feel crusty and dry.

And the blotches of paint where she missed her mark were mountainous from a distance.

"Oh, pink's an awful color anyway."  
She dove head first into the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing water all over her face until every last hint of make up was gone. When she looked back up, her grin was smug.

"Much better."  
"Katara!" A voice whined. "Pain in justice, if you put on one more layer of that pink abomination, Jet is going to have an allergic reaction!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming... And Father said you are not old enough to curse, Sokka."  
"If we are old enough to hear them, I say we must be old enough to say them. Now _hurry_!"

"Katara? Sokka? Quickly, now, children. The Prince has arrived."  
"The Prince!" Sokka hissed against the door. "Ka_tara_!"

The door flew open on cue, and a clean, eight-year-old face shone upward. Her fingers clenched folds of her silver-blue gown, it's front spotted in powder. The boy in front of her, only a year older and attired in cobalt uniform, lifted an eyebrow high in doubt.

"A _hefty_ price you'll pay for _that_ offense." He nodded dramatically at the blotches of rouge on her dress.

Her lips curled to retort, but it was then that the orchestral music from the hall rose to an end and polite applause erupted up towards the domed ceiling.

Sokka spun in his place and stood up on tip toe, just tall enough to peek over the railing and see the expansive golden hall below. It was not empty but crowded with towering gowns and suits and tunics in every direction, long, white gloves with slender fingers holding crystalline champagne.

Sokka's eyes widened and he spun about on the maroon carpet, the gold chain and watch he was so proud of wearing flapping and jingling across his tunic.

"The Prince is here!" he said, eyes wild with excitement and accusation of her delay.

"Come now, children," was their father's gentle call. It came from the crest of the scarlet carpeted staircase.

Not bothering to offer the lady his arm, Sokka ran quickly to the head of the stairs, where he caught his father disciplinary eye and then briskly corrected his posture. Katara had ran too but under the same chiding glance from the Count hitched up her gown and walked slowly and impatiently to the men's sides.

"We must exhibit our best edicate to the Prince and his family," the Count reminded them.

"Yes, father," was their simultaneous murmur of reply.

The Count offered them his gloved hands. One was refused by Sokka, who adjusted the dagger sheath at his waist and marched on independently, head high, while the other was taken by Katara's own gloved hand. The winding staircase was rimmed in gold with blood-red steps, two descending on each side of a grand balcony that extended from the second floor. They were small figures on the majestic structure but nonetheless it was their home and they shone from it like the golden gargoyles that embraced the pillars embedded in the walls.

As a trio they reached the perimeter of the party, where the multitude of guests parted with respectful nods. The Count returned their nods with a smile, leading his children across the marble floor. The walls seemed miles away, adorned in elegant stone statues of angelic personages and infant cherubim, ancient waterbenders known throughout the ages, a family history in chronological portraits seven feet tall all spanning the upper parts of the stone walls. Katara's young, exuberant heart could not ask for a more handsome and enchanting home.

Applause rippled into consciousness and the guest members bowed and saluted as the Royal family, a group of six dressed in uniformed maroon, fully stepped forth into the festivities. The mellow light and crisp autumn air from the yard faded as the giant front doors were closed. Katara studied them with wide, searching eyes.

The tallest among them was clearly Prince Ozai, whom her father had praised and given reference to on several occasions. While she had imagined a kind and playful man like her father, she was amazed to see the pierce in his golden eyes, the hardness of his smile as he acknowledged their approach. He seemed a man of stone, far too graceful and potent to be a father of young children. His long hair and the beard that clamped only to his chin was straight and the color of midnight, stereotype for her country yet almost unique.

Beside him stood perhaps the most beautiful woman she had seen, and Katara had seen few except for some she met at parties, due to her mother's death many years before. The image of her mother was fading over time, and so Katara was amazed at the fairness of Prince Ozai's wife. She searched her memory for the woman's name, knowing she had heard it before... Oh, yes, Ursa. In contrast to her husband, the lady Ursa's eyes were glittering with everything she thought a mother should be, reserved patience but a glowing love for frivolity, compassion and a sense of innocence. But behind the flowery qualities she saw a bold woman of wisdom, a determined press to her ruby lips that gave her poise.

At Ozai's other shoulder stood a round, elderly man, his gray beard combed neatly to let a jovial smile through and an endearing twinkle in his eye. He stood glowing and proud in the presence of the fourth figure, a tall young man, perhaps seventeen, with the old man's same face just shrunken in years and an accomplished dignity about his posture. On his chest glinted two golden medals. Katara caught Sokka's mouth open in awe.

Below the prince and his wife were the children Katara had been expecting to see: two of them, a boy and a girl. The boy was a few inches taller and a tad more sallow than the girl. His head was inclined towards the floor, glossy black bangs looking as though they had been rumpled from a previous combing job. He averted his gaze as if it were second nature, hands flexed at his sides, and Katara could not imagine a more quiet creature in existence.

The girl, (his sister, no doubt) had glistening golden eyes to match her father's exactly, and the more Katara studied them, the more alike they were. Mischief hardened the child's natural beauty--- inherited from her mother--- and made her seem almost taller than the boy who kept his eyes on his feet.

"Your Majesty," she heard her father say, and as his shadow elongated as he bowed deeply, Katara hurried to do the same. (Sokka was already mirroring his father's moves exactly.)

"My old friend," the Prince said in a drawling, snowy voice, "it is an honor to be invited to so fair a home as yours."  
"The honor is mine," her father replied. "The Royal family must be incredibly busy. But it is indeed wonderful to see you, Ozai."  
"We were delighted to come, Count Hakoda," the Prince's wife cooed gently. "May we introduce you to our family?"

The fluent and delicate words Katara had been tutored in were wafted betwixt the two families as the plump, short man was introduced as Ozai's elder brother, General Iroh. Her father commended Iroh's successes on the battlefield, his legendary accomplishments at the front lines.

"The most of which have not been on the battlefield, but in the unit of my family," Iroh replied, and Katara instantly took a liking to his rich, chortle-like voice.

The tall, brooding young man was Iroh's son Lu Ten, no older than eighteen. He was a picture of success, and was also recognized for his military presence as Iroh was. Katara felt her young heart beat dizzily when he turned his handsome smile towards her.

Like any child would, for the rest of the introductions, she ignored the adult talk of rank and things of that sort. Her father was very present in the military buisness, though he was not a ranking officer, he had been until three years ago, and still felt an empty place above the hearth where a lofty, elegant sword used to sit. He had never received it through ritual, as was tradition, and so at the end of his post he was forced to retire the blade to his predecessor.

Katara began to listen more aptly when Ursa took the task to introduce she and Ozai's children.

"This is our daughter, Azula," she said, touching the child to her far left, who stood more at the knees of her father. Azula curtsied politely in the direction of the Count.

"I'm very happy to be here, Your Grace," she said in a small, tinkling voice. Still mischief leaked from the girl's tone and Katara could not seem to feel the warmth her words portrayed.

"Azula, what a beautiful name," Hakoda commented. "May I ask how old you are, my dear?"  
"Nine and a half," Azula said proudly.

"How perfect," was her father's reply, and Katara was starting to dread his next words. "This is my daughter Katara, she's nine years of age as well."  
"Nine and two weeks," Katara mumbled in correction, and when her father's finger jabbed as a reminder into her shoulder, she dropped a quick curtsy.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said to Azula, who as assessing her as if she were a foreign food item.

"I think we might find another match-up," Ursa said, and came to rest her hand affectionately on the pale boy. He stood nigh against the front of her gown as if afraid to part too far from her.

"This is our son, Zuko. He's eleven years old."  
Katara watched, interested, as Zuko slowly lifted his eyes. They were the same gold as his sister and father's, but far softer. One would need to look at him for a slightly longer moment than his sister to realize he had a lovely, delicate face almost appearing to be sculpted of ice. Surprisingly, it was Katara's eyes he caught before Hakoda's, and so his bow was accidentally directed to her. He quickly amended with a second bow to the Count, biting his lip.

"Thank you for inviting us, Your Grace," he said quietly.

"What a strapping young boy," Hakoda said, and slapped a hand on Sokka's shoulder. Sokka's bright blue eyes and bronze-toned skin, not to mention his more pompous posture, seemed to elevate him several feet above Zuko, and he showed no objection to the contrast, only satisfaction.

"I am Sokka," he said, taking the deed from Hakoda. "I am ten years old now, but I'll be eleven in just three months."  
"We should all get along splendidly," Ursa said, smiling down on her son's questioning glance. Her slender hand stroked his hair.

"Katara?" Hakoda said, turning to her. "Would you like to escort Azula to your room? You two can become further acquainted."  
"But I wanted to dance," Katara protested, against her better knowledge.

"Dance with Jet," Sokka muttered, and Katara shot him a stinging glare.

"There's still time," Hakoda said, eyes turning disciplinary. "I propose you and Sokka take Zuko and Azula on a brief tour of the house. After that you can come help yourself to dancing and refreshments."  
Katara sighed, reluctant; it would take too much energy to devise a plan to avoid her father's word.

"All right." She turned hesitantly to Azula. "You can come with me now."  
Azula help her chin up high, unsmiling, and skipped lightly to Katara's side.

"Zuko?" Ursa purred, prodding him gently in the shoulders. "Go on now, darling."  
"Quickly," Ozai snapped through his teeth, and Zuko hurried as if stung to Sokka's side.

"Come with me," Sokka said proudly to the boy. "I'll show you my sword. It's in a long, glass case up in my quarters."  
Katara only sighed, watching Azula roll her eyes.

-----

As they maneuvered through the crowd, Katara kept glancing in different directions, searching between the ruffled folds of gowns for a familiar guest. The fact that all the adults parted and congregated to let them through also did not help much: the crowds grew thicker and thicker and soon Katara could not see past the first person. Azula noticed almost irritably.

"Do you have a twitch?" she inquired.

Katara blinked, frowning. "No. I'm looking--- I mean, no. I don't."  
"Looking?" Azula's eyes perked expectantly. "Looking for whom?"  
Katara blushed. "No one."  
"Are you looking for Jet?" Sokka demanded, peering around Zuko's sauntering figure.

"No," she insisted, scowling, but only turned redder.

"Katara! Sokka!"  
Katara's heart raced against her chest. The four children spun around at the familiar voice.

A smirking young boy in a beige tunic and trousers tucked into shiny black boots was making his way towards them. There was a charismatic sparkle in his eyes and his chestnut hair was purposefully ruffled out of combing position, like Zuko's seemed to be.

"Aye, Jet," Sokka said nonchalantly. "We're showing the Prince's children our home."  
"The Prince's children?" Jet leaned forward to examine Azula and Zuko, their crimson, armor-like clothing and varying expressions of interest.

"Pleasure to meet you, your Highnesses," he said, and Azula seemed to hold back a scowl. "I'm Jet. Twelve years old. I dance with all the bender ladies."

Zuko just blinked, looking dismal.  
"Oh, sure you do," Sokka said, rolling his eyes. "You don't come up to their waists."  
"No strife," Jet said, patting his stomach. "I eat three eggs every morning at Long Feng's silver smith. Did you know eating eggs makes you stronger?"  
"Atrocious," Azula grumbled. "I'm a vegetarian. My father sees that we are fed the healthiest diet." Her eyes lifted in pride.

"That's fine," Jet said, shrugging. "Though I heard they lunch on seaweed in the palace."  
"The correct term is sushi," Azula said, rolling her eyes rather dramatically.

"Whatever." He shrugged again.

"I've never heard of such food before," Sokka said.

"It's a very rare and expensive imported delicacy," Azula explained. "The kingdoms of the southern islands are their makers. They're barbarians."  
Katara scowled. "If so, why are their products held in such high regard?"  
"Had you ever heard of sushi until now?" Azula asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"No."  
"So, of course, if you possess a certain level of sense, you can see that they are not at all in high regard. They're lucky my father takes the time to purchase their goods; seventy three percent of all their profit is from his generous hands."

Katara did not reply, only made a mental note to dislike Azula greatly from then on.

"So, Jet," Sokka said, changing the subject, "your father finally consented to let you take on the apprenticeship?"

"Aye," Jet replied, smirking. "I'll be the finest black smith the world's ever seen by the time I'm eighteen. I'll be able to melt three swords into one long, twelve-foot spear, and I'll be maddeningly good at fencing with it."  
"That word isn't usually a compliment," Azula said, folding her arms.

"It sounds dramatic, doesn't it?" Jet said. He turned back to Sokka. "So, what are you going to show the royals first? The west wing? The observatory?"  
"Would you like to come along with us?" Katara asked quickly, hands cradled shyly at her chest.

"If I may." He winked and she flushed intensely.

"Come on, enough talking," Sokka said, and he turned to lead them all across the floor. Azula was first to follow with folded arms, chin high as usual. Jet brushed past Katara and as her heart stuttered from the contact, she stumbled, bumping into a dark red shoulder.

Zuko frowned down on her.

"Excuse me," she said, swallowing a second blush and holding her head up like a lady. "I misstepped."  
He just furrowed his brow as if confused, and she stepped lightly ahead of him so he could follow. Unfortunately, their miniscule delay had been time enough for a crowd of ladies to occupy their path, and Sokka, Jet, and Azula were cut off from Katara's range of sight completely. She hurried to the left, peering around the bundle of skirts but the guests were moving like heated molecules and he was nowhere to be found.

There was chuckle behind her, and she heard a hearty man laugh, "Truly remarkable, Mr. Freer, I could not have guessed!"

Katara sighed.

"Well, Sokka's gone to the main staircase, no doubt," she said to herself, and turned back to alert Zuko...

There was empty space where he had once stood, and it was doomed to be filled by a new group of chatting adults.

Katara furrowed her brow and stepped lightly to the side of one olive gown, peeking left and right from any sign of the boy but it was as if he had been snuffed from visibility like a doused candle. She did not feel comfortable to call his name, and it was unacceptable in this area to raise your voice higher than the violins, which played on peacefully despite Katara's growing frustration.

To her right she thought she saw a flicker of maroon but when she turned her full face towards it, it was swallowed up in two men coming together in a warm hand shake. She advanced towards their cummerbunds where just in time they separated to let her through, recognizing her sapphire gown as a family signature. Katara kept her hands close against her chest and pressed on with searching eyes. Again, she saw the red shoulder being shoved aside--- or just moving very fluidly--- towards her right. She hurried between the standing obstacles but did not discover Zuko, only found herself in nearly the same place in which she had started.

She huffed a sigh and decided trying a new direction, heading right towards the staircase. Maybe Zuko had found his way there and was waiting for her now. It seemed unlikely that he would be waiting for her, but it did seem right that he would move to be out of the crowd as soon as possible.

And there it was again, that flash of maroon. Katara was beginning to growl, though she new such behavior was unacceptable, she could not help it. It was irritating enough to have to lug the royal brats around, let alone deal with their inexplicable knack of disappearing into thin air.

She went to intercept the color before it could slip away too far, but then found herself reaching out to clutch a woman's sleek, red gown. She flushed and bowed quickly at the lady's awkward stare and muttered an apology, hurrying away before they might realize which family she belonged to.

"Oh, that's it," she finally spluttered to herself. "I've had enough of this. If he doesn't want our hospitality, good riddance of him."  
And she stomped off blindly towards her left, looking up through the canopy of shoulders and heads and chins to catch a glimpse of the staircase...

"Ow!"  
She didn't have time to reply, for she too was experiencing a brief moment of pain. Someone had trodden on her foot several times, as if stumbling over their own steps, and had collided against her chest. She felt the clear brooch pinned to her breast press it's dull, flat side deeper into her front, but knew it was not dull and flat on the other side.

Her eyes focused and suddenly she beheld Zuko leaping away from her, hunched slightly as if under a weight, clutching his chest in a pale hand. He was wincing when he turned up to stare at her, shocked.

"Zuko!" she huffed, straightening the askew locks on either side of her face that were free of her bun. "For Agni's sake, I've been looking everywhere for you!"  
"What are you wearing?" he demanded, staring incredulously at her front.

She glanced down at the brooch and saw he was rubbing the same area on his own chest. She eyed the sharp, hard edge of the jewel and sighed.

"It's only a brooch," she said defensively. "Surely it didn't hurt that bad. I am sorry to have caused you pain, but I believe _you_ ran into _me_."

"I did not," he said, and he looked strangely uncomfortable with talking. His lips moved as if hesitant, awkward. "I... I was looking for _you_."

"Oh, well, _avoiding_ would be the more correct word, if you're asking me," Katara said, scowling.

"I'm not," he mumbled.

"Hah!"

Katara yelped at the exclamation; from nowhere jutted the sharp, shining tip of a dagger. It was longer than the ones Sokka carried, passing more for a stylistic kitchen knife. Nonetheless, it was a blade, and a dangerous one. Zuko too was taken quite aback, jumping back several paces.

Jet, beige overcoat brushed behind his hip to reveal a miniature scabbard and wielding the dagger tight in his hand, laughed jovially. He lowered the weapon casually, still chortling, and sheathed it.

"Jet!" Katara gasped. "That was not one bit funny!"  
"Young lad!" a woman shrieked. "You put that insufferable thing away, now! You could have killed someone!"  
"Well, it is good to know no one has never seen a joke before," Jet said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, and then smiled. "It was such fun watching your face, Katara. Where have you two been? Dancing already?"

Zuko looked straight at the floor, grimacing.  
She blushed and frowned at the same time and decided to ignore the comment. "My father would have gotten very upset with you, and yours too."  
"Pff." Jet waved a hand. "My father virtually expects as much."  
"Hm, this conversation is leading in an interesting direction."  
Two large, strong hands grasped Jet's shoulders from behind and his smirk instantly vanished. Above him, a dark man with frozen eyes and a sleek sheen of black hair strode into their circle. His beige coat and trousers matched those of his son, who instantly pulled his feet together and dropped his arms politely to his sides.

To her left, Katara saw Zuko move uncomfortably.

"Good evening, Mr. Freer," she said automatically, dropping a quick curtsy. Zuko did the same with a bow of his head, facing away from the man.

"Katara," Mr. Freer greeted her, and then turned to Zuko. "His Majesty's son, tis an honor."  
"Thank you, sir," Zuko mumbled.

"Bending facts a tad, are we, Jet?" Mr. Freer glanced down at the boy who peered back up at him cautiously. Katara detected no note of fatherly concern in his voice, only discipline.

"Er... not anymore, sir," was Jet's reply.

"Let's keep those certain extensions of our arms pocketed, shall we?"  
"Yes, sir." Still, a smirk hinted at his lips and he looked quickly at the dance floor.

"Jet! Did you find them?"  
It was Sokka who appeared from the group's left, with no sign of Azula. Katara found this preferable and hoped it would stay that way for some time.

"Katara," he growled, pouting in her direction, "you are always so oblivious."  
"I went looking for Zuko!" She thrust a hand in his direction. "He apparently thought vanishing without a trace would be hysterical. And anyway, you were the one moving so hastily---"  
"Zuko, is it?" Mr. Freer interrupted, studying the boy closely. He nodded when Zuko gave him responsive eyes. "Yes. A fine young boy."

There was a glimmer behind Mr. Freer's eyes that Katara could not identify, and the corners of his mouth dropped in a frown as another moment passed.

But it was indeed just a moment, and then the _something_ was gone.

"Well. The next dance round is about to begin. Would you children care to join?"  
"Yes, please," Katara said eagerly. There was always a portion of the floor designated for the younger ones, so that their still-learning feet would not thwart the grace of greater experienced pairs. It was incoherently labeled as a training section.

"But father told us to give the royals a tour," Sokka said.

"That can wait," Mr. Freer insisted. "It would take all evening and you'd miss the dances altogether. I'll talk with him, don't worry."

"Where is the Prince's daughter?" Jet asked Sokka. Sokka only shrugged, clearly uncaring.

"I left her by the staircase. She wouldn't come when we were going looking for Katara. And Zuko," he added, stealing a glance at the boy that went unreturned.

The music gently ended and polite applause sounded about them.

"Off you go," Mr. Freer said, nudging his son in the direction of their portion of the floor while he strode off to locate his wife. Katara, Sokka, and Zuko followed behind Jet with ranging enthusiasm.

The floor began clearing, the press of the congregation now moving towards the sides of the room. Katara felt herself pushed by the humanity into the small lot of floor belonging to the children, and felt safe knowing there was territory that could stand above the high, high shoulders of the adult guests. Several pairs took the floor as the music began, the finest looking ladies with the finest looking men. Katara twisted the fingers of her glove anxiously as the violins drifted over a waltzing melody, the couples swaying and stepping and turning all together as if commandeered by strings. She felt home now, here among the dancing and the music.

At long last she plucked up her courage and turned to Jet.

"Jet? Will you ask me to dance?"  
It was a pathetic and shaky plea, but all for the better. He grinned sardonically and adjusted his overcoat.

"May I have this dance?" He bent his voice to an elegant accent which forced little Katara to forfeit all dignity: her cheeks burned more than ever before as she placed her hand on his shoulder and his on her waist, and they glided together across their small lot.

"Horrid, Jet, positively horrid," Sokka commented, and Jet only sneered.

Katara finally got her grasp on what she had wanted, what she had anticipated; she loved the dancing, the music, the sparkle in Jet's eyes. He was such a noble boy, superb with every move, always lifting her with startling ease from the ground, twirling her a half step from his one side to his other, and then setting her down gently like any gentleman would. She remembered learning the dance steps, remembered how Sokka had struggled to lift her from the ground when Hakoda had first instructed the step.

The dance wafted on until it came to a close. Jet did the traditional ending of bowing and planting a kiss on the back of her hand, which of course resulted in Katara sporting an extreme clash of scarlet skin on pale blue fabric. The second dance was quicker, more light, and Sokka took Katara's hand for this one. Since Azula was no where to be found, she was the only female available to the children, so sharing would be necessary. Katara felt personally more clumsy under the lead of her brother, but settled for it, knowing another dance with Jet was not far off and she could be a lady again.

_Jet did not fail to provide plenty of commentary while Sokka and I danced, and I must admit, had me giggling so often I could barely keep my footing. It was only expected when Sokka threw up his arms and refused to dance with me for another moment. Jet volunteered to finish the steps. It was at the end of three dances that I realized there was another male among our small company: against my preferences, I grit my teeth and politely asked Zuko whether or not he would care to dance with me. It was very peculiar, watching his eyes change so drastically from a solitary glaze to astonishment to confusion to adversity, and at last the classic embarrassment as he excused himself and melted off into the crowd. _

_I was not disappointed, only relieved, for the most part, and vowed to occupy Jet for the rest of the evening. Behind my smitten smile and laughter, I had pondered that night, thinking of Zuko and his curious agitation, it seemed, towards everything. It made me wonder if he had ever set foot from the palace before, and now was overwhelmed by the mass of babblative humanity._

_You must understand, I had a young mind and it tended to wander in every direction available. Watching Zuko leave so abruptly had sparked many questions, and I had grown to accept them as a child's first interactions with a different sort of person. Social diversity he and I both were not used to._

_Incredible... I see him so differently now._

-----

Zuko's steps were silent on the long, carpeted hallway. He watched light from the window decrease in a matter of seconds while the sun slipped away behind the distant mountains. He felt the energy inside him stir, an instinctive feature of his chi. His firebender nature hummed a small farewell to the setting sun, and he could almost feel the heart beats of thousands of firebenders throughout the city doing the same. A forgotten ritual, long abandoned, yet still effective.

He had traveled so deep and so high into the hallways of the manor that the sounds of the party were slowly growing more and more watery; they slipped away moment by moment like a receding dream or rejected hand of fellowship. He had not rejected the Count's children. On the contrary, he was prepared to face them every Thursday for the rest of his life if that's what his father wished.

He would do anything to please his father.

All the oak doors were shut but towards the end of one hall, near the corner where it turned into another, he could see space where it was usually lacking, a new light that did not come from the sun settled on the carpet.

He did not want to disturb the Count's children, nor the Count himself, for that matter; the idea clutched him with sudden anxiety. Had he wandered too far? He was already violating very strict rules of society: you only ever see another's house unless host or hostess walk you through it, and even then, you keep all observations to a minimum. Yet he was a child, and dancing with the girl Katara, for him would be impossible.

So while his heart restrained his feet advanced, and before he could help himself he was just beside the open doorway, ready to be seized by a manservant and thrown over the second floor into the marble abyss below.

But no... he had not seen any servants, not one, in all his meandering... in fact, there had not been many serving drinks or holding coats down at the party. He took this as a reflection of the Count's personal style and it made him feel slightly safer... slightly...

And then, suddenly, from inside the room he heard such a familiar voice he almost laughed at himself for being nervous. No, he did not laugh, only glared.

"Pathetic... totally... Oh, fuss over me, fuss, fuss, fuss... give me more... typical..."  
Azula's cold voice mimicked another's. Zuko thought he already knew who's.

It took him only one step to enter the room, gliding around the entry way until he stood planted with his arms folded.

Azula looked up with wide eyes, but then, upon seeing him, simply giggled and returned to her buisness. The only problem was, it was _none_ of her buisness.

She meandered about a bedroom, looking at the shelves and the dressers, into the mirrors and the closets, into the drawers, throughout the books, around the porcelain dolls all set in a row along the wall...

"What are you doing in here?" Zuko asked coldly.

"Just looking." Azula stepped away from a peticular doll with disdain. "Depressing, isn't it? This place. Totally barbaric."  
"That's typical, coming from you."  
"Oh, please. It's just a bit of fun. Ugh, look at this, how can she wear this..."  
"Stop touching all of Katara's things."  
"I'm not touching!" The corners of an olive gown slipped from her fingers instantly and she moved on through the closet.

"Get out of there," Zuko grumbled. "Come on, Azula. Father wouldn't approve of this at all."  
"Well, I'm not entirely worried about what Father would approve of. I'm not burdened with that constant game of pleasing him, unlike some people..." She glanced at him over her shoulder, smirked, and returned to her snooping.

Zuko pursed his lips and tightened his fists, but said nothing.

"Father is virtually pleased with anything I do," Azula continued lightly. "He approves of everything. Pertaining to _me_, of course."

"It still doesn't give you a right to sneak about other people's things," Zuko protested, though his voice shook a tad.

Azula sighed dramatically and turned with her hands on her hips. Her face was sculpted of great disgust.

"Are you truly going to stand there and pester me about it until I cease?"  
"Yes," he said fiercely.

Her eyes rolled a great deal and she came irritably to the door. But as she reached him, the irritation died off and she smirked at his distasteful glare.

"No matter. It was dreadfully boring anyway."

She brushed into the hallway, motioning with her hand.

"Come on. There's plenty left of this place to explore, however dull it may be, it's better than that dreary dancing..."  
Zuko swallowed hard and watched her depart, then stepped into the room to survey any damage. Azula had moved little, and what she had would most likely go unnoticed.

He looked at the south wall of the room.

A solitary window was open wide, twilight spilling forth and a gentle breeze tickling the gossamer drapes. From where he stood, he could peer through it and see the corner of the high mountains cloaked in majestic pine, the rugged yet stunning valley floor leading off towards what he knew would be the lake, though he could not see it.

The room felt incredibly empty. He left it gratefully.

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**A\N**: well, talk about aimless. I guess it had a point towards the end. I just had my birthday party yesterday so i was kinda out-of-the-Zutara-zone when i wrote this. XD. Yeah i'm officially 15 now! And did you like that dose of Since The Jeans? The Zutara Collide, i like to call it. Zuko and Katara just can't stop running into eachother .anywho, hope you liked it! Reviews are my favs!!!


	3. Three Nights for Three Years

3: Three Nights for Three Years

---

**A/N**: and now without further ado, i give the floor to Katara.

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_Two months passed after the doors of the party were closed, the hall empty, Jet and his father gone. Every Thursday since then Sokka and I were forced to meet with Zuko and Azula, sitting for hours on end in the name of our fathers attempting to make small talk. Thursday became the dreaded curse of our household and that of the royals; the most grueling studies Kana and my father could concoct were preferable over those nigh unbearable Thursdays._

_I'd long forgotten about the mysterious encounter with the boy in the blue mask: I'd only ever seen him once, in the dead of night amidst an anxious stretch of silence and the passing veil of sleep. A dream, beyond that no questions were asked. My mind was far too young and eager for the future to dwell on the past. I had not bothered to mention the night to my father, who I was certain would not have the foggiest idea what I was talking about. If I was ever to tell him, it would only be to speak of the most incredible dream I had experienced, in which he played an important role, the hero who dismissed the dark ones._

_But it would not stay that way, though I was sensible in thinking that it would._

_It all changed one night when I was lying in my bed, all traces of sleep eluding me as I worked to dispel the flurries and furor of the afternoon that should have died away in my mind with the rise of the moon. _

_And there he was._

_He appeared, so silently and softly that I had not even seen him enter through the open window. My eyes were heavy, both rows of lashes reaching for each other, wishing to draw the drapes of my vision closed. I had not caught the change in the lavender shadows on my wall, the brushed disturbance of the breeze. All had been deathly, blissfully still for me, and if I had not been awake, I probably would never have realized it was otherwise in reality._

_I first saw him clearly when my head rolled to the left and I saw him, a shadowy shape standing at my night stand which seemed to have sprung from the very darkness which cloaked him. The mask on his eyes was a sapphire blue slowly sharpening into focus. It glittered magnificently in the moonlight that peered over his shoulder; I thought for a moment the mask was an angel's sparkling wings, the way they curved upward and spiked out in such a fashion._

_I saw then the stumps where his arms should be and, after a moment of shock, realized they were not severed but folded and cradled against his chest... and not as empty as they appeared. As my eyes adjusted I saw what he held in his hands: a smooth, aqua colored pot. It was carved in the appearance of a vase, with thin sides and a gracefully curving rim._

_Seeing it brought back memories of it's touch and smell. I could feel it's smooth, cool crevices in my fingertips, whisper thin and as accurately aligned as the eyelashes of an infant. When last I'd smelled it, I had received images of the fuzzy mint leaves that Kana would break and toss into our dinner salad. Father had said mint was my mother's favorite herb to grow; she would grow it on every window sill, in every nook of the garden not already used... When she had died though, Father had had most of it removed because Sokka was developing an allergic reaction. He still kept a good portion in the garden, where Sokka never went, as a memorial to her personality._

_I watched the boy finger the pot; it was small compared to most. It could be hidden entirely in the grasp of both of my Father's large, strong hands. Father had told me once that mother had it made especially for me, weeks before my birth and eventually her death. She had predicted the color of my eyes would be the gentle, sea-blue color of the pot. She had almost been perfect in that estimation._

_I was not afraid or concerned at the fact that the pot now sat in the hands of the boy: it had remained safe, high up in my closet shelf for many years now. It had not grown close to me like the necklace had which mother left behind. This last gift from her to me I wore at all times, a silver chain and an azure jewel, the most beautiful thing I vowed to ever see._

_The boy brought the pot close to his face and I guessed that he was smelling the mint as I often had. As he moved it in his hands, it wafted the faint scent towards me and I was refreshed with memories, brief and unremarkable but sweet... like mint._

_I sighed contentedly in the smell, and instantly the boy's head snapped up. Apparently, he had not realized I was awake. I watched the light dance in his eyes widening beneath the mask. There was a hollow thud as he set the pot quickly on my night stand. I almost sat up, startled at his haste, almost offered vocal reassurance that I meant him no harm..._

_He was at the open window and on it's sill before I had time to blink. He froze there, hand on one of the sides, staring back at me as if to see if I were watching._

_I propped myself up dizzily onto my elbows, squinting in the harsh light from the moon._

_And like a waft of the breeze, he swung onto the outer wall and was gone._

_-----_

_He came again._

_The very next night, after my father's rough and gentle hands had smoothed the quilt beneath my chin and turned out the lights, the boy came. I had slept for perhaps two hours when I awoke again almost instinctively, as if I had been bidden to do so. Such a rousing did not trouble a child, but it would trouble an adult: my father had woken several times every night for the first two months that he had returned from the battle front, so accustomed was he to sudden alerts. My mother had always been there to settle him, hush him back to sleep, holding him against her heart beat while he trembled with unused adrenaline. Now, if he ever woke that way again, I do not know what would lull him back into slumber._

_When my eyes slowly emitted the image of my room, I could see him standing in the same place as the night before. His mask glittered brighter than ever: it was a full moon that night, so the room was not black with darkness but a mellow haze of cobalt had descended over it, light from the firmament intermixed with the night's opaque hand._

_For the second time, it seemed that the boy had not caught my awakening. I watched his figure stoop for something below the surface of the bed that I couldn't see; there were trinkets on the lower shelf of my night stand, not many, but enough. An old porcelain doll, my first and most treasured, my water flask for the bending instructions that came every other day... my master was Sir Pakku, an elderly, humorous, yet strict man who held more pride in waterbending than perhaps anyone I had ever met. Sokka thought the whole ability was ridiculous, and Pakku shunned him for it._

_The boy straightened back up and I saw in his hands a crescent-shaped pouch, the thin strap hanging down from his wrist. My water flask. Despite the hour and the dreamlike state of the situation, I still felt an opposition to him handling it, but not enough to sit up and ask that he place it back where it belonged. He was such a fascinating person, one I had never before and probably never was to meet formally, yet for some reason the very signature of his movements had stolen into my heart and settled it. Before long, my opposition had turned to blissful ease; I felt content enough to invite him to explore every inch of my bedroom, though I still did not speak._

_The boy turned the flask around in his hands, studying the patterns that embraced it's surface. It was a pity he did so in the darkness: in the light of day, the brown and gold colors blended beautifully together to create an ancient-looking piece of art._

_The boy lifted the flask right side up and gently unscrewed the top. I could see that his movements were careful so as not to create sound, and he succeeded for the most part. Cautiously he lifted the flask like a black moon silhouetted against the window. I followed the curve of his arm to the tip of the flask where clear, pure water was trickling downward into a container. It took a slight strain but I identified... the slender pot from the night before. I had not bothered to put it away, and Father had not questioned it's appearance, and now the boy poured water into it from my waterbending pouch. It was most peculiar, and yet curiously at the same time completely normal._

_My mouth opened at last to form an unexpected question--- I had no idea what I was to say to him and under such circumstances--- but sound never left my lips._

_The door handle clicked and I watched it from the corner of my eye slowly turn, preparing to open._

_There was a thud on the surface of my night stand. My eyes barely had time to catch the last corner of the boy's sleeve vanish out the window onto the outer wall._

_-----_

_It had been Father who had opened my door just enough for his robed figure to slip into the room and saunter towards my bed. I had closed my eyes but was not asleep and so with the moonlight against my eyelids I could almost make out his shadow descending over me. I felt his hand cradle the front of my head as if calming a pulse, but it was clearly just a caress. I had fallen asleep again before he left, the events of only minutes before racing about my mind._

_It was the very next night that would resolve the mystery of the boy's two previous comings. Three visitations in a row, each equally strange, and the last one to tie them into one deed._

_I had stayed up a little longer this next night, staring into my open window to scald my tired eyes with light, forcing them open. _

_And he had come._

_I watched him enter this time and let my eyes droop halfway shut so as to sustain the illusion that I was in slumber. His slim, black silhouette had crept from the outer wall into the window sill, the blue mask glowing like a chunk of blue sky snipped from it's place. There on the sill his eyes were shining spots, but as he lowered himself carefully into the room they became the sunken black holes of his mask. I took a deep breath to suggest a dream and waited patiently while, tensed, he made his way from the window, gliding soundlessly to the designated area at my night stand._

_I noticed his hand was held securely behind his back, towards the lower part of his hip as if to hide or obscure something. I had not seen his fingers in the light of the window so did not have way of knowing what they held. _

_He stopped in the position that I had always awakened to find him, peering over a shadowy task. The hand he was hiding slowly came out from behind him. _

_Clutched in his fingers was a small group of flowers. I could see clearly their gentle, curving petals, and that there were plenty of them. Their rounded heads reminded me of the turquoise emerthens that grew across field after field. It seemed sometimes that if their beauty covered every continent, all things of sorrow, of deceit and hate would disappear. I remembered then something my father had once told me..._

_"Your mother was collecting turquoise emerthens when we first met. She had them braided into her hair, woven into the edges of her sun umbrella. I sat beside her and watched her press them into the yellow, crinkled pages of an old journal, and I knew then that we were to be married."_

_The story had left the mark of love on that flower forever in my mind. The day Jet and I had met he had presented me with an entire bouquet of emerthens; I had adored him ever since that day, taking the formal action as an omen._

_My recollections were shattered when he plucked one flower from the bunch with his second hand and gently extended it towards me. I froze, startled..._

_But then the soft, smooth surface of a petal stroked my cheek. In an instant the summer before of rolling in those fields crashed down upon me, when those tender petals were all about me, lifting me above the ground into the sky that seemed close enough to seize. The peaceful touch receded to my hairline, until suddenly the new, cool touch of leather fingers tucked the flower securely there behind my ear. My heart settled, and the leather, as light as a whisper, barely brushed the corner of my jaw before retreating._

_Daring to move, I watched the boy's hands set the remainder of the flowers silently into... the waiting, aqua pot full of bending water._

_He stood back from the completed task for a moment, studying it, and then stole a last glance at my still figure._

_He left voluntarily this time, satisfied, leaving peace where they had been mystery._

-----

"Katara? You're supposed to eat your food, not stare at it."

Katara blinked as her brother's loud voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her suddenly out of her reverie. She looked up at Sokka, who was eyeing her with high eyebrows over his fork.

"Tuck in now, dear," her father said, gently admonishing her while subtly wiping his trimmed beard with a napkin. "Zuko and Azula will be here very soon, so we have no time to waste."

Katara huffed a breath, breaking away from the remnants of her thoughts, the hazy memories of mere hours before: she had awoken in the morning with a turquoise emerthen tucked behind her left ear, leaving it there until Kana had plucked it out and set it on the night stand, leading her off to her bath.

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**A/N**: ridiculously short, but hey, i'm trying to move this thing along. YES!! THEY START GROWING UP IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!! NINE YEARS OLD TO ELEVEN, WE'RE MAKING PROGRESS! ahem, so... pllllllleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaazzzz review! Thanks for reading guys!


	4. Farewell

4: FAREWELL

**A/N**: well, that's a promising chapter title. not. XD Recently a buddy of mine has requested more of Lu Ten, so prepare for Lu Ten-ness!

Oh, and the theme for this chapter has to be "Your Guardian Angel" by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. No question, even though it serves in an ironic way. It just is. If you haven't heard that song and you're a fan of alternative, I NOW COMMAND YOU TO LISTEN TO IT.

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_Autumn of 1793_

_Two years later_

Part of Katara's mind would always wait for the boy in the blue mask to arrive at night, but for months on end he never appeared. The mystery and affection he brought was slowly forgotten over time; it was a treasure of the moment, not something Katara could hold over time. So it had faded after several weeks; and remember, she was merely a child and had so many other things on her mind.

However, it was in those small moments when she was lying in bed drifting closer and closer to the threshold of sleep that she would remember him, almost randomly, just the way he would spontaneously appear... and she would sigh in a small, fleeting wonder if she could ever see him again.

But he never came, and a lovely two years passed on without him. Suckling innocence bloomed into a wiser, more cognizant youth as Katara peeked the age of eleven. Sokka, thirteen years old and beginning to show signs of manhood--- of which he was slightly bashful but very proud--- would almost never be seen in the house. One would have to treck through the mist-clad field to the edge of the forest, right at the base of the mountain, to find him, quiver slung over his shoulders and arrows cocked and shot one after the other from his grandfather's bow. And while in the past Katara and Azula had rolled their eyes and Hakoda chuckled at his numerous shots far from his mark, his skill was now inching closer and closer towards the center red dot of the target.

Azula and Zuko grew to be manageable; over time, Katara and Sokka had developed marvelous ways to endure the painful Thursdays until, by the time twenty and four months had passed, Thursdays were drifting from unbearable and settling into annoying. Well, it was progress made.

It had been slightly more difficult to get along with them when Prince Ozai was crowned king: King Azulon passed away mysteriously one drearily cold night, sending the whole Republic into a murmuring fit. The rumors plagued the city like fire even after the unexpected coronation. Katara had been quite confused, seeing as Prince Iroh was older than Ozai, and yet his birthright to the throne had been rebuked. Hakoda had later explained--- and at the coronation it was made very clear--- that Azulon's dying wish was the succession of his second son. It seemed the Republic grew to like Azulon's selection while before they had adored Iroh and could hardly wait to see the day when he would be their king.

And so Ozai overshadowed Iroh's superior age and credibility with the glory of the throne, as Katara knew was bound to take place the instant the crown was set on his head. No more did talk of the great General Iroh sweep the streets. There was only talk of Ozai and _his_ greatness... which Katara, in secret, failed to see.

She had without a doubt preferred Iroh over Ozai when it came to company, but she soon convinced herself that Azulon knew best, and had unhesitatingly made the wisest governmental decision. Hakoda was in full support of Ozai as well, though Katara had not missed the shock and fleeting objection that had crossed his face when he had read the letter of proclamation.

As Katara and Sokka feared, they were dragged to King Azulon's funeral and to Ozai's coronation by the ends of their ears, forced to endure the dreadfully formal proceedings without a single word or out-of-place fidget. It did not get any more pleasant when Hakoda asked--- ordered--- them to offer condolences and congratulation to now Prince and Princess Zuko and Azula, and then to His Royal Majesty King Ozai himself. Seeing their Thursday misacquaintances dressed in exquisite uniform, the first time in lamenting black and the second time in glittering crimson and gold, had not made them any more likable.

_"What beautiful proceedings," I hummed to the thirteen-year-old Zuko, who was eyeing me almost hopelessly. "I am sure the Republic will be a better place under your Father's rule."_

_A dreary line, so repeated, but all I could stomach to say._

_Zuko bit his lip and tinkered with his outrageously fashionable overcoat. "Thank you. We appreciate you coming."_

_"Dreaded, more likely," I mumbled._

_He cocked his head. "Pardon?"_

_I cleared my throat quickly. "Ahem, hem, sorry, nothing. Er--- Your Highness." I scowled very slightly at the term, and then continued. "So... I have never been to the royal palace before. Will you be giving Sokka and I a tour?"_

_Zuko blinked; he had not expected this. "Urb--- well, I--- don't see any harm..."_

_"Wonderful," I said, and smiled. Giving him discomfort was raising my mood considerably. He had always been so awkward, so sullen. It was about time he felt the sting of his own lashings._

_He shifted on the spot, eyes darting from me to the crowd to the floor and back to me, and then turned._

_"I will have to go acquire my Father's permission."_

_I shrugged, and leaned against the refreshment table by which we stood. I studied the cubes of cheese stacked like a pyramid on a silver plate, fingering the handbag Father had given me, just waiting... it was so strange, attending a party that did not involve dancing. I had grown up among dancing..._

_Well, this was hardly a party like the ones my father would lightly hold out of sheer enjoyment. This was a _coronation. _Even still, I would assume such a ceremony would be joyful; everyone here seemed made of stone, with steely, rough smiles so much like King Ozai's, strained conversation and limited humor._

_In a nut shell, pathetic._

At both royal services, Ozai's wife Ursa was not present beside her husband; Ozai had reported that she was stricken with a very serious illness and would not be leaving the security of her quarters for several months.

_"Where is your mother?" I asked forwardly, before any announcement concerning her absence had been made._

_I watched Zuko's face crumble into pale ash._

_"She's very ill."_

Never again did Katara see the shining, lovely face of the newly crowned Queen.

Despite the misfortunes that were not hers but that she was expected to share, Katara's life was content. She knew that, and she never thought it would change. Even with her maturing insight--- for she was a very bright young girl, observant of life's little twists and turns--- she foresaw no major change that would shake her simple world.

But the future is never certain, always shifting.

Her life would be shaken several times, and at different magnitudes.

The first shake took place on a deep, stormy night.

-----

Katara loved the whipping gales, the claps of thunder and flashes of lightning. It lifted her spirits to new heights, helped her to soar above the ordinariness of daily life. Being a waterbender, it thrilled her to see the sky sobbing against her window, to know that outside all was wet, windy, blanketed in mist. The thunder was music, such a calming and reassuring phenomenon.

She had sat by her window doing her crochet, absently bending a small worm of water from the aqua pot--- kept out on her night stand for the last two years--- over her work when her mind would escape to distant lands.

Her door opened fearlessly and without invitation, so she knew who had entered: Sokka stood in the entry way with his sword drawn, scrutinizing her room as if hunting prey.

"Phantom chasing again, Sokka?" she asked, looking back down at her crochet, unimpressed.

He glanced at her and shrugged, shifting his grip. "You will fall on your knees and thank me when I've caught the ones slinking about your bed; you will finally be able to sleep peacefully."

"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered.

"I am not. I know you do not sleep at night."

Her eyes lifted, sharp. "Pardon me?"

"You lie in bed with your eyes as open as a summer sky. You're thinking too much. You need to sleep, Katara. That's what the good gods made the nighttime for, for _sleeping_."

"Oh, well, thank you for reminding me," she said, and frowned back down at her work. "And for your information, I get plenty of sleep at night."

"Not from what I see."

"And how _do_ you see, exactly?"

"You remember; Father gave me the Night Watch."

"Night _Watch_?"

"That's what he calls it. He goes out into the garden and surveys the landscape, looking for rebels sneaking about the fields. After that he comes into each of our bedrooms and surveys us, making sure we are sleeping soundly."

"And Father has given _you_ that responsibility? Well, we are certainly doomed."

"Be grateful," he protested. "I might spare us a robbing."

"I seriously doubt any mangy old rebel would dare rob our home."

"They may not be rebels; they may be trained assassins, or rapists."

Katara sighed in exasperation.

"Sigh all you wish," Sokka said. "You'll thank me."

"I wonder," Katara droned, "to what effect does the Night Watch serve if you are not in bed? Do you check up on yourself?"

"Well, how else do you propose I do it? I lie down in bed when all has been done and tell myself to go to sleep most deeply. And it serves plenty of effects besides the sleep checks, Katara: remember the rebels."

"Ah, yes, hunting the rebels. Do you plan to become a Rebel Snatcher, then?"

"No. That's for the lesser folk."

"Such kind words."

"Well, I'm only calling them what they are. Mr. Freer is not a Count, only an official."

"He could very easily arrest Father, you know."

"But will he? Not at all; Mr. Freer and Father are very close friends."

Katara finished and stitch and then placed the device down on the window sill, sweeping up thread clippings and extra needles. Sokka watched with his shoulder in the wall, hand on his sword hilt that was now slung back in it's scabbard.

"Why do you stay up at night?" he asked, puzzled.

Katara eyed him, askance. "I do not. I go to sleep."

"Not immediately like you should. I have the Watch, Katara, I see you every night staring out the window at the moon, as if you are talking to it."

"Well, I am certainly not talking to the moon, that I can tell you. It is far too busy for conversation."

"All right, all right, now tell me. What do you think about?"

"Why are you so insistent to know?" she demanded.

"It's just peculiar, tis all. I myself am so tired at night, I am lucky to get to my bed before collapsing in a helpless heap."

"If that's the case, then why in the world did Father assign you the Watch?"

"You are changing the subject again. Just tell me what you think about."

She huffed and rolled her eyes. "There is plenty to think about, Sokka. Don't you ever think of things when you are out in the fields for hours on end shooting arrows all about the place?"

"Not exactly. I'm far too focused on the archery to think of much. And you should be far too focused on sleeping to think, too."

Her mouth opened to retort when suddenly a new shadow entered the dimly lit room. Both the children straightened as their Father peered inside, face urgent.

"Sokka, Katara," he said sharply, "come, please. Now."

"What's wrong, Father?" Sokka asked, while Katara hurried to slip on her shoes.

"Princess Azula and Prince Lu Ten have come with important news. Please come; quickly now, Katara."

She hurried to take his outstretched hand. Sokka stepped around him into the hallway, eyes wide, and lead them to the grand, scarlet staircase. All around them, the windows flashed and blinked with lightning, the outer world gray and racked with rain.

Katara peered over the banister as they descended, lips parted until she remembered to close them out of edicate. She was amazed at what she saw.

The front doors were open, Kana bustling about the Grand Hall carrying coats to hooks. It had never looked so empty in all of Katara's life. Towards the entrance were two figures, and farther back at the door were two more. The last two Katara could identify easily as royal soldiers; they were robed in silver and red, armor shimmering with wetness.

Katara already knew who the other two were; even if her father had not spoken it, she would have known by their posture, their stance.

Lu Ten's handsome, structured face was as solemn as stone. No expression crossed his eyes as they moved, syncopated to the Count's movements. His stood in parade rest, feet apart and arms bent uniformly behind his back. His dark attire was splattered with rain, and when he released one of his hands to remove the hood of his cape, he revealed dark, curly hair drenched and windswept across his brow.

He showed no comfort to the girl beside him... who was obviously in distress.

Princess Azula was dressed also in dark tones. Her hair was in a bun, as usual, but veiled. She held her hat in her hand, as fancy a thing as her gown and coat that looked almost like clothes worn for lamenting. Like Lu Ten and the two soldiers, she was wet from the storm, sleek streaks of rain glistening on her pale cheeks.

"Your Highnesses," Hakoda said, bowing, and his children followed suit. Lu Ten nodded in response. Azula only stared at the far wall.

"Good Count," Lu Ten began, and his voice that was, in Katara's memory, usually smooth and dashing was dry and clipped with tension. "Thank you for attending to us on such short notice. We..."

He glanced halfheartedly at Azula, who was biting her lip, her brow creased upward.

His gaze returned to Hakoda. "I am no longer permitted to speak," he said briskly, and took one step backward.

His dark eyes slipped to Katara; she gazed at him even after he had looked away, watching sorrow craft his features.

Silence reigned almost respectfully, the urgency building. Finally Hakoda spok tenderly.

"Princess?"

Azula turned her eyes towards Katara and her family.

They were swimming with tears.

"Zuko has been _banished_," she cried, and gasped, sealing her lips shut with her hands. She squeezed her eyes closed, shaking her head.

Shock took Katara as the rain had taken the world. She could no more speak than she could firebend.

Beside her, the shock and incomprehension crossed her brother and father's faces.

"Prince Zuko? Banished?" Hakoda breathed. Katara had never seen such disbelief in his eyes, not in her entire life.

The silence was so thick, it would be fit for Sokka to draw his sword and slice it to ribbons. Katara stole another stare at Lu Ten, searching desperately for explanation, but he was staring far away out a distant window. He was a ghost as far as she could tell.

The whimper from Azula's lips, so incredibly uncharacteristic, called Katara's eyes back.

"He has... he..." She clutched her mouth even harder, blinking frantically as tears started down her cheeks.

"He has lied!" she finally sobbed. "Lied to us all. Betrayed us, tricked us--- he--- he--

She gave a shuddering sob and ran. Just ran, forward and away, towards the kitchen. Her tears and steps echoed on the marble, up into the domed ceiling.

Lu Ten's eyes did not follow her as the others' did. He gave one steely nod to Hakoda before turning on his heel and marching towards the doors. His cape swept behind him as an appropriate excuse of departure. His muttered briskly to one soldier before thrusting the doors open and striding a beeline into the rain. Katara could see a covered carriage and a team of horses waiting just beyond the porch on the cobbled walk way.

The soldiers closed the doors. They resounded like growls.

"Kana," Hakoda called across the room. His voice seemed parched, strangled.

The plump maid waddled quickly into view. Hakoda removed his coat and walked towards his study, holding it out on his arm for her to take.

"Please fetch me some new oiled parchment," he ordered. "Katara, Sokka, see to the Princess. I have an extremely important epistle to write."

"Yes, Father," Sokka mumbled. There was nothing else to say. He sounded much younger than he was, so childish, so afraid and innocent.

Katara was amazed. For two to three years she had only despised the royals. Never had they been friends of any kind; they were barely guests. So polar were their differences, so extreme and in contrast their personalities.

And yet now Katara was seeing into their lives. It was as if someone had switched on a light to reveal that there were indeed hearts beneath all that royal attire, all those smirks and blank looks.

It would take her many weeks, perhaps months or years, to fully believe Zuko's banishment had happened. It would be a scar of shock on her heart for as long as it took to heal, and even then, it would remain to haunt her.

She looked to her left at Sokka. He was staring in the direction Hakoda had disappeared, face dismal.

"We must see to Azula," Katara whispered. She felt so weak.

"You go," Sokka suddenly spat. He glared at her, and Katara blinked in surprise.

"I've had enough of them, enough of all of them," he growled. "I won't speak to them ever again. Banishment! Barbaric! Zuko was a shivering mouse, how by the gods could he have been banished? What trickery could he devise and carry out? _They're_ the traitors, all of them!"

And with that he bolted for the staircase, clutching his sword and growling under his breath.

Katara could only stand and watch him leave. In the first instances of learning the news, she had not known what to think. Anger towards Zuko? Condemnation? Or pity, remorse?

He had wounded Azula, wounded his family greatly. Yet Sokka defended him as if the action were a complete injustice.

Which could she believe? She had no impression, was only an empty glass waiting to be filled.

She too ran, though in the direction of the kitchen. She did not know what she would say to the princess, the girl she had detested for so long, and now felt needed comfort. Who was she to provide comfort? Yet she had to try.

The kitchen doors were closed. She hesitated before gently lifting a hand and pushing them open.

In the wide, white room, beyond the several counters, Azula was standing over a sink, staring into a mirror. She was brushing something from her coat, picking things out of her pocket and dropping them into the basin.

"Azula?" Katara asked gently.

The Princess spun about, not with surprise but expectation.

"There you are," she said, and her voice was suddenly cold.

Katara was so confused; Azula's eyes were that sharp, glassy glaze again, that smirk was restored about her lips.

She turned back to the mirror, and continued brushing at her front. Katara stepped fully into the kitchen, wide-eyed, letting the door swing shut behind her.

"I... I came... are you all right?" she asked.

Azula let out a short exhale, like a puff of indignation. She was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief now.

Even from the distance, Katara could see the distress was gone from her face.

"Well, it would be a pity if I smelled of onions for the next few days," Azula said, turning towards Katara and opening her handbag. "But other than that, I'm quite fine, actually."

Complete incomprehension swept across Katara's face, and the princess saw it.

She chuckled and began to walk towards the doors.

"You don't honestly think I _miss_ the little nit, do you?" she said icily, eyes harder and more deadly than ever. "When I heard of his banishment, I laughed him to scorn and proclaimed good _riddance_ of him!"

She threw up her hand to accent her yell. Katara jumped.

"Don't waste your energy coddling me," the princess continued in a hiss. "I've never been better. Zuko is a pathetic coward with no honor. He is best forgotten, and with gladness."

Katara's heart spun about in perplexity but she said nothing, only stared, trembling, into Azula's narrowed eyes.

"My father is free of his nuisance, my mother of his blubbering," she sneered. "We are all free now of his weakness. Relieve _yourself_ of whatever useless weight he has cast upon you, and by the gods, toast to his absence. His deserves not even that."

And as though she had plunged a dagger into Katara's back, she brushed past her and exited the kitchen, the smell and presence of onions in the princess' front pocket bringing tears to Katara's eyes.

-----

_The night passed as if the whole world were a dream. My fingers were white and ached in the morning when I realized I had clutched my quilt beneath my trembling chin even through sleep. _

_Mist and frost from the rain the night before bordered my sealed window. My father had locked it, closing the curtains to be sure I would sleep._

_Even in sleep, my dreams were filled with Zuko. Azula had cast such fear and disappointment into my heart that I no longer fought the thoughts of him; I welcomed them, or rather, let them consume me even to the point where I would stare endlessly at a wall or surface, lost._

_But Zuko had never had any place in my heart._

_So why did he torment me now? Had Azula's words summoned him into my mind like the rain had summoned the mist?_

_I never told my father or Sokka of her true colors. Just to repeat them would only result in eternal regret, undying repulsion. I could not inflict that upon myself, not when hearing them had already caused me enough pain, enough loss of contented innocence._

_I had aged decades in that kitchen, in that short, shattering scene. I was now a different person, someone even I myself would never fully know._

Sunrise was the color of blush intermixed with scarlet and orange. It was almost a sunset. The clouds were gathered to cast a faint shadow over the land, only adding to that effect.

Katara rose desolately from her bed, dressing in a daze. The walls were gray and the air cold. She felt exposed, shivering without any hope of warmth. Any thought of eating was most unpleasant.

As she wondered out into the broad, uncovered hallway, the entirety of the home expanded before her as if stretched and inflated. She wobbled, feeling her insignificance and littleness when in years before she had raced along the halls, her light steps making everything seem so distant beneath her.

In her delay, suddenly she heard something that was not familiar.

To her right, all the way down the hall, through the glass door and the tiled parlor, was a majestic balcony. It was a wide open, windswept place where Hakoda would go to read and whistle, Sokka to spot the rabbits in the garden below and shine his sword, Kana to paint the outstretching forest, and Katara...

_"Your move?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow._

_I glanced at Zuko's hand, the cards he kept fanned in a perfect angle towards his chest. With a smirk, I slapped down my most aggressive card._

_He parried it almost instantly with a stronger one, taking the win._

_I huffed and muttered, "You are despicable."_

_The corner of his lips lifted daringly and he hid behind his hand._

Katara swallowed and focused her mind on the voices, the noises, all brushed through the open glass door by a finger of breeze.

Quickly she made her way to the parlor. It wasn't lit, corners dark and gray, the tile lighted dismally by the sunrise that was slowly inching inward. The voices were more distinct now; she could separate tones and words. The stone was cold on her bare feet, and the windy, frosty air did not help to warm her. She hugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and moved to the edge of the balcony. Her hair fluttered about her shoulders, caressing the underbelly of her chin. She was fully exposed now to the elements, as if an airbender sat upon the roof casting billows upon her for sport.

Katara set her hands on the balcony's railing and looked down.

Perhaps seventeen feet below was a curving, cobblestone pathway. At it's edges sprouted the family garden: it wound in the same wavy fashion along the edge of the house, disappearing around the far right corner a hundred yards to Katara's right. But it was not the garden that intrigued Katara's eye.

On the pathway were two men and a heavily packed golden horse.

The first was easily identified as her father. He was in his more presentable robe, the one he wore to formal breakfast. His short, trimmed beard and long, dark hair were uncombed and whisked about his head, delicate in the hands of the wind. He was talking in undertone to the second man who was kneeling at the left side of the stallion, hands working quickly to tie a last pack. He stood, his back to Katara, and strapped the remains of the supplies upon the horse, speaking back to her father, making up the low murmurs she had heard from the hallway.

And then the man turned towards the house, looking for a last forgotten object. It was Lu Ten.

In the overcast air, failing pink light from the rising sun barely leaking through the clouds, he looked more handsome than ever. His face was darker, it seemed, more ruddy, his hair in small, tight curls clinging to the sides of his face and brow. They seemed unruffled by the breeze. He was cloaked and armored in dark tones just like the night before. Katara watched him bend to pick up a lofty, black scabbard, the jeweled hilt of a sword jutting from the end. For a solemn moment, he studied its workmanship... and then with reverence strapped it about his waist.

His glistening black eyes turned to Hakoda. They were filled with sorrow, with determination.

"Thank you, Count," he said respectfully, and bowed fully as one would to a royal like himself. His voice stroked Katara's heart, a gentle tone filled with breath and sincerity. "How can I repay you?"

"Only by assuring me that you will take care of yourself," Hakoda said, patting the stallion's neck. "The Republic will suffer greatly losing such a noble leader."

"Please take to heart what I told you about my cousin," Lu Ten implored quietly.

Hakoda stared long and hard into the young man's eyes, scrutinizing them, as if searching not only Lu Ten's heart but his own.

"I will," he promised at last.

Lu Ten's smile was broken and sorrowful but grateful. He bowed a second time, and Hakoda did the same.

"Farewell, Prince Lu Ten, Your Highness," her father said, stepping back from the horse, and his eyes wandered up the side of the house.

Fear seized Katara's heart but she was frozen, and so was not able to escape her father's eye. He discovered her almost naturally.

"Katara?" But he sounded surprised.

Lu Ten turned and peered up at her as well.

"Do you need something?" her father asked. Katara shook her head timidly. Hakoda frowned.

"What have I told you about hovering, darling?" His eyes were hard and chiding.

"No, no, Count," Lu Ten said, waving a gloved hand. "Please, it's all right."

The prince's eyes were soft upon hers; she felt weakened and blushed.

"Katara?" he asked, spinning silk with his tongue. "Will you come down?"

She did not glance at her father, only nodded, moving back from the balcony as if in a trance. The absence of the frosty air once back inside her home gave her energy and she ran, curiosity growing, down the stairs, across the hall to the front doors. From the kitchen she heard distantly Kana call her name in question, but she ignored the woman. It took some strength from her little figure to pull the doors open, but before long she had bounded onto the porch, once again cast into the crisp and raw atmosphere. As she rounded the corner, following the garden, she slowed to a polite, pacing walk, holding her shawl close about her.

Her father, the prince, and the horse came into view. She looked at the ground until approaching them completely, at which point she turned her eyes up to the Count.

"I believe I left Kana with an order," he said, his eyes forgiving now. He looked at Lu Ten, who seemed so tall now that Katara stood right before him.

"The gods bless you, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Hakoda."

And her father was gone, his steps fading behind her.

Katara took a breath, suddenly nervous, and looked up into Lu Ten's eyes. His smile was pacific and assuring.

"You must have a happy life here, Katara," he said.

She nodded. "I do, sir."

He sighed, looking out towards the east, the way her father had went, beyond the mountains...

"Many people cannot say the same," he said gently. "I being one of them."

Katara blinked. "You... you are not happy, Your Highness?"

"Have pride and power ever come off as a pleasant existence to you?" he asked, whimsical now.

"It has, actually. Sir."

Any hint of a smile faded from Lu Ten's face. He absently stroked his horse's neck, eyes narrowed against the breeze and lost from her grasp.

"I thought so," he whispered. "If only I had the courage to reveal to you the truth."

"What is the truth, Your Highness?" Katara asked. She stepped forward slightly, staring into his lovely features for some hint or scrap of knowledge.

His gaze turned down upon hers. She shivered.

"There are devils, Katara, in the places we least expect them. Where we may reach for an embrace of comfort or friendship we could receive a javelin or gnashing teeth. I do not see this shadow in your household, and I thank the gods for it. It has plagued our country enough."

Katara swallowed. "What do you mean?"

He surprised her by dropping to one knee, bringing their eyes to a congruent level. His cape flapped about his ankles, brushing hers. She cradled her shawl closer, gazing, bound, into his eyes.

"I do not wish to know what Azula has told you," he murmured. Katara felt her heart tremble, suddenly pained. He read the wound in her eyes and took one of her shoulders in his hand, his strong, leather-bound fingers enveloping it completely.

"I know it has caused you grief," he continued. "Katara, this ought not to be so. What did she call her brother, my beloved cousin Zuko? A liar, a trickster? She is cunning... and unforgivably cruel to have been so in your presence."

Katara's lips trembled. She clutched her shawl with whitened knuckles.

"Katara, daughter of Hakoda," Lu Ten said with piercing conviction, "if you have ever believed anything, believe this now. I swear to you by the firmament which we all hold sacred that Prince Zuko is innocent of any charges thrust against him."

The breeze seemed to halt. All the world seemed to freeze, rapt upon his words. Katara's heart raced beneath his sway. There was nothing more definitive in all the world but the depth of truth in his eyes.

"He can never be redeemed," the prince said, "not by my hand, nor my honorable father's; not by anyone. The world has turned against him now and he has no hope to return to his home, his rightful place. But he has _us_. He has those few souls who know the truth and will never revoke it. I beg you, Katara, do not let such crafty villains as Princess Azula and King Ozai himself ever turn you against the one true ruler of our kingdom."

_I never had heard such words depart from any mouth, such fearless denial of the King's greatness. Those words alone could be the end of life, the loss of all honor._

_Yet I wanted to believe them. More than anything, I longed to be as strong as Prince Lu Ten._

"Zuko now departs our land under the guidance of my father," he said, and his eyes fell miles away, a reluctant goodbye haunting his gaze. "I cannot accompany them, though if I could, not a soul would ever hear of me again."

He took his hand from her shoulder, rising to his feet. The horse shifted, sensing his master's energy.

Lu Ten wrapped the reins about his hands and held her eyes for one final moment.

"If the humble and the righteous are cast from our country's eyes like scavenging dogs, so shall I be. If all this kingdom comes to is deceit and corruption, so be it. I shall not linger another day. I escape now to a neighboring country with truth and loyalty as my colors."

He hoisted himself onto the horse, jerking it's nose south, in the direction of the mountains.

"I pray Zuko will learn to consider his banishment a blessing. It will help him learn to break free of the web of lies our family has cast about him. Until then, while he remains in anguish, while he is forced to forsake all he treasures, I shall as well. The honest and good forces of the world are one, and who am I to sever them?"

He turned one last look over his shoulder. Katara watched in desperation.

"Farewell, Katara. Our true king awaits: do not forget your obligations."

And with a cry, he kneed his horse to top speed, a furious gallop to rival the wind.

-----

_"I would be honored to take you on a tour of our home," Zuko mumbled, and we were off._

_The palace halls were very much like the halls of my home... it was just a slightly more nauseating trip up the winding staircase. Most of the interior was dark--- except the dance floor--- lit only with dim candle light. I learned quickly that my home was modeled almost exactly off of the Royal Palace, for at the lip of the second floor, Zuko, Sokka, and I could peer down into the hall where the main proceedings were held._

_That, or the Royal Palace was modeled after _my_ home. Yes, that was preferable. _

_We stood at that lip now, arms folded over the railing; I had to stand on tip toe between Sokka and Zuko while they both were tall enough not to. Behind us was a dark, lurking corridor that came off as a descent into a dungeon or just a black abyss set in the wall. I chewed my lip, watching the candlelight quiver across the gaping drop to the hall onto the other side of the second floor. Such it was in my own house, but this hall was so many times bigger than mine, and the distance from east wall to west was almost ludicrous. _

_"Azula and I used to drop pearls from her skirt down on the guests," Zuko muttered quite randomly. Sokka and I both looked at him with wide eyes. He just shrugged and turned his own back to the party below._

_"There are pearls on Katara's skirt," Sokka said._

_"Sokka!" I snapped._

_"Sorry. I just thought it would be fun."_

_"It is fun," Zuko mumbled. "Especially when they land in a glass of champagne."_

_"You can't make one land in the champagne," I protested, rolling my eyes. _

_"I did once." He glanced at me quickly and then away._

_I noticed a change in the lights, a more dramatic swelling than just the small flickers of the candles. The shadows on the floor were throbbing wildly, like a great wind was building a bonfire at our backs. I gnawed my lip more aggressively and turned away, staring hard into the opposite wall, but the distance to it only startled me more. Over my shoulder, I looked again at the shadows. So colossal were they now that I jumped, bumping Zuko's shoulder._

_"Pardon _me_," he grumbled._

_"What's the matter with you, Katara?" Sokka demanded._

_"Look at the shadows!"_

_The boys turned as I did: lamps were lined along the walls from inside the dark, abyss-like corridor. In them the candles were whipping about madly. I eyed Zuko and his face was wide in shock, Sokka's the same. _

_"BLAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!"_

_The flames burst, stinging our eyes with light. I cried out and grabbed Sokka's arm, who had fumbled his footing and was stumbling to the left._

_From the darkness, someone was laughing._

_The lights died back down to their original mellow glow. I looked at Zuko, panting frightfully: he was scowling into the darkness in disgust, folding his arms indignantly._

_"Kuzon, I swear to the gods, you are nearing the executions list," he growled._

_The laughter subsided to chuckles and from the darkness a figure emerged. He was dressed in uniform red, though it looked dreadfully inferior next to Zuko and Azula's royal outfits. He was gangly, with rugged, auburn hair and dark brown freckles under his eyes. _

_"'Ow did y'know it was me?" he chortled, wiping soot from his hands._

_Zuko only rolled his eyes and turned back to the railing, grimacing at the far wall. Meanwhile, Kuzon turned with a toothy grin to face Sokka and I, both cringing together in paralysis._

_"Oi, who be them youngens?" he inquired quite forwardly._

_Zuko breathed a sigh and turned back to the hall in which we stood._

_"Kuzon, this is Katara and Sokka, children of Count Hakoda. They are honorary guests this evening. Katara and Sokka, may I introduce you to Kuzon, the village idiot?"_

_"Oh, stop it, 'Ighness, I've gone bright red." Kuzon waved a hand. "What were you all talking about, anyway?"_

_"Throwing pearls into glasses of champagne," Zuko said quietly, eyeing my skirt._

_"Pearls?" Kuzon snorted. "Not pearls; they are very lightweight. I suggest something better."_

_Despite recent events, we all stared curiously at Kuzon's hand while he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of small, shimmering objects._

_"What have you there?" Sokka asked, letting go of me and stepping forward. I followed quickly, as did Zuko. As we crowded in the dim light, squinting at Kuzon's upturned palm, my head knocked Zuko's. He scowled at me, getting a hefty scowl in return, and we stepped away a good foot._

_"Rock candy?" Zuko said, aghast. Sokka and I only stared, incomprehensive._

_"Aye," Kuzon said proudly. "Swiped 'em this morning from ol' Bumi's closet."_

_"What are they?" Sokka asked._

_"Well, what do you think they are, chum?" Kuzon exclaimed, incredulous. He lifted one and popped it into his mouth. Thus followed a heavy crunching sound, and a moan of satisfaction from Kuzon._

_"Bite-size heaven, that's what they be," Kuzon said. As Sokka reached for one, Kuzon clamped his fingers shut over them and drew his hand back._

_"Oi, grabby, they aren't for you! We've got to drop 'em in ol' folksies champagne!"_

_"Well, let me have a go, then," Sokka protested. "Go on, give me one."_

_"We'll need a wider attack range," Kuzon said, ignoring Sokka. He scanned the hallway with narrow eyes._

_"Hmm... Zuko, you take the yonder east wall and get them blokes just coming in. I'll pop those who keep tucking in like pigs at the refreshment stands."_

_He placed half the rock candies in Zuko's hand._

_"What about me?" Sokka asked._

_"You're an amateur, you'll stick with yours truly," Kuzon said._

_"And Katara?" Zuko asked, frowning._

_"Oh, she'll go with you, of course."_

_Zuko and I stared at eachother in objection, but Kuzon and Sokka had already sprinted off down the railing. _

_The Prince sighed dramatically. "Alright, come along."_

_We moved swiftly and begrudgingly to our positions, Sokka and Kuzon becoming shrinking figures in the distance. The great space that had jostled my nerves was not racing past at my left, until I found myself on the other side, clutching the railing beside Zuko who had his hand poised over the edge, ready to release a rock candy._

_Apparently we were on our own schedules: Zuko did not wait for any cue from Kuzon. I watched carefully as a dark head would move into what I calculated to be a good range, and then Zuko's fingers would part and the candy would drop, falling down, down, down towards the white marble floor. It was such a long way down; I found my stomach swelling just by watching the candy's descent._

_It missed it's mark, landing on the floor and shattering into pieces. Though heads turned in confusion and then perked slightly upward, the result wasn't nearly as satisfying, I realized, as if he had actually hit someone's crown._

_"Let me have a try," I whispered. He just shushed me and dropped another after a moment of wait. Again it missed it's mark of the head but crumbled with a _snap_ near a woman's ankle. She pull up her skirt in alarm and looked around at the crummy mess._

_"You're just making a mess," I muttered. "It's not half as funny that way."_

_"Well, why don't you try, then?" he snapped._

_"I will!" I snapped back. "Now give to the poor, will you?"_

_He thrust out his hand irritably and I took one candy, standing on tip toe to see over the railing. I swallowed at the distance, but quickly pulled my wits about me, not about to look weak in front of Zuko._

_I shut one eye, waiting, watching... and then released the candy. We watched it fall and graze a man's arm, breaking it's fall so it did not totally shatter. I stomped my foot lightly._

_"Drat. Missed him."_

_"You're waiting too long," Zuko scolded._

_"You're not waiting long enough!" I seized another from his hand and readied my position. Being a girl, I found it more funny when the rock candy hit men, so I focused no an elderly man who had sauntered below to make small talk with a group of guests._

_"Wait for it..." I murmured to myself, studying his movements closely and matching my hand as if he were a puppet I controlled with strings. "Wait... one moment... wait... right..."_

_"Oh, drop it already!" Zuko batted my hand and the candy fell to it's death, far off my mark._

_My eyes flared at Zuko and we fought for the remaining candies._

_"You had no right to interfere!"_

_"Let go of me!"_

_"Give me another, I deserve another try!"_

_"You'll just waste them all!"_

_"You clumsy---"_

_From below, we heard a startled raise in voices, like strings in an orchestra had been bidden a crescendo. Zuko and I released each other and peered over the edge, just in time to see a woman pluck something from her propped glass of champagne. The rock candy. The surrounded guests were marveling and murmuring, and slowly began to look upward. _

_Zuko and I simultaneously leapt from the railing, staring at eachother in awe._

_"I did it!" I said, grinning. "I got one in the champagne!"_

_"That was because I knocked your hand," Zuko argued._

_"No, no, it was my shot, entirely my shot." I adorned my smile to the highest degree of smugness and then moved back to the railing._

_"How about..." Zuko approached my side, looking down too as now a man was taking out a napkin to dab the woman's splattered front, "we call it a mutual accomplishment?"_

_I looked at him, askance, and then shook my head pleasantly._

_"No. Sorry."_

_He sighed and reached for another candy._

-----

When Hakoda entered Katara's room to bid her to breakfast, he found her curled up and asleep above her quilt. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he lifted a finger to trace her raw cheek. It was stained with the streaks of innumerable tears.

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**A/N**: pleaz review and keep reading!


	5. Voiceless

5: VOICELESS

**A\N**: return of the blue spirit! If any of you have seen or heard the soundtrack of the musical **Aida**, (recommended) this fic fits that kind of music very well. If you only hear one track of it, hear "Enchantment Passing Through" or "Not Me", they're beautiful songs. Heather Headly, people! (i hope i spelled her name right XP)

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_The forbidding Thursday appointments continued, but never again did I speak to Azula unless when absolutely necessary, such as inquiring she pass the salt at dinner or asking a political question under the guiding eye of my father. Nor did she speak to me; we were even colder in acquaintance than before, hardly able to say we knew of the other, so hard we worked to push the other from our minds and lives._

_One year marked the anniversary of Zuko's banishment. Coincidentally, 'twas a dark, tempestuous Thursday night. I was twelve, Azula the same, and Sokka fourteen. Dinner was silent and heavy with thought, like an invisible mist blanketing the table and sealing mouths shut. Only Azula bothered to ask that the bread be passed, awakening us all from what seemed like an unconscious daze. She raised her eyebrows in question, as if surprised we were so sullen, quickening Sokka's fingers to accommodate her request. He, Father, and I only ate what was in our reach, even when Kana, lips tight, asked the Count if he would like some gravy. He feigned a smile and lifted a gloved hand in rejection. I scarcely ate at all, watching the food on Sokka's plate perfunctorily disappear._

_The ambition of our two fathers, Azula and I, to unite their children in camaraderie was dying with each passing day. It seemed Azula would only come to make advantage of our home's facilities. She became awfully fond of putting up her feet in our grand library, or meditating in the parlor, thus forbidding access of anyone else during that period. The very last time I allotted her a word was when I discovered her one afternoon standing some feet from the garden, a bushel of rocks in one dainty hand while the other was meticulously tossing them into the soil in an attempt to hit a certain flower. They were emerthens, not the rare turquoise but the color of orange cream, one of my mother's lasting favourites. Once the first head of delicate petals and stem were bent and crushed beneath Azula's thrown rock, she moved to the next flower, doing all this as if it were relieving her of a dreadful boredom. I screamed and chased her from the grass back into the house as one would chase a tramping dog, ripping out the crushed flowers in fury and giving them a proper burial in the nearby pond._

_Sokka's growth was quite notable, perhaps more so than that of the girls. Later and later in the afternoon, always heckling Kana by being the tardy mouth to feed, he would return from the misty fields, bow swung across his shoulders and a few retrieved arrows in his free hand. His hair would be damp, and quite frozen, crystals of due settled amidst his curls until he would wag them to oblivion only to hear Kana's shrieks of objection. Then he would settle down for lunch beside me like a portable winter, always wearing the chill and moisture of the coming frost like he would wear a vest. _

_And indeed, winter came. December was light but made it's statement with the ferocity of a three or four blizzards, passing on with much regard when spring began to peek. The smells in the air began to change; as if the earth were a great boiling pot and some titanic hands had just broken a new set of herbs into the bubbling brew. Wind became breeze again, the icy mountain grounds began to thaw. The exquisite beauty of summer was a shadow of expectation in the distance, growing ever thicker, ever closer._

_It was then, on that balancing point of seasons, that he and I were reunited._

-----

"Oh, no, Father, you do not have to put it away so soon."

"So soon? Katara, darling, it has been out for the last three years."

"Oh, I know. But I have just grown so accustomed to it being there. I do like it's company."

Hakoda's hand bearing the small pot fell back from the shelf and returned the object to it's place on her night stand. Katara gave it a contented smile and cuddled back against her pillow.

"I am glad that you like it," the Count said. "It brings back many memories of your mother."

"But I have none."

"Well, for me. For you... it can give you the sense of who she was."

"Was she like the pot?"

Hakoda chuckled. "She was in some senses. For example, she smelled often of mint."

"That you've told me. She would plant it all about the house."

"That is right."

"If Sokka had not had an allergic reaction, would you have taken so much mint away?"

"No. It was a great comfort on the days when I would miss your mother so. I miss her every day, but on the peticularly lonely days, just the scent of mint seemed to suggest she was there, if not in body, then in spirit."

"I'm sorry," a new voice mumbled.

Hakoda and Katara turned to see Sokka standing almost shamefully in the doorway, not yet in his sleeping garments.

"Sorry for what, son?" Hakoda asked.

"For being so allergic to mint. You would have more of mother around then if I was not, I suppose?"

Hakoda's brow lowered chidingly and he extended an arm to bid Sokka forward. The boy came awkwardly, sitting on the side of the bed beside his father.

"Come now," the Count said gravely. "I've never heard such poppycock. You, apologize for something completely beyond your control? Balderdash."

"So you do not suppose I drove the memory of Mother from our home?" Sokka chanced.

"Even greater poppycock! I haven't the foggiest idea where you came up with such a notion."

"Well..." Sokka hesitated, looking out the open window. "I..."

"Yes?"

He breathed a deep sigh, looking into his lap.

"Azula told me so. When I told her of the mint Mother loved, and my reaction to it, she said, 'Oh, it's a shame you are responsible for dismissing her memory.'"

I heaved a dramatic sigh. "Sokka, I swear to you, the next time you heed a single word from that wretch's mouth, I shall wreak the world's end."

"Katara, what is this talk?" Hakoda scolded, touching her lips. "Princess Azula is not a wretch."

"It probably _is_ too kind a term," Katara muttered, looking away. Hakoda turned back to his son and squeezed his shoulder.

"Azula is absolutely wrong, Sokka. I never have nor will ever hold you in any accountable position for _dismissing_ Arla's memory. I have never heard such nonsense in all of my life."

Sokka's eyes brightened thankfully and he smiled.

"Now," Hakoda said in a very buisness like tone, "off to bed, both of you; it's dreadfully late and you have bending instruction in the morning."

Katara shifted in her bed while the two men stood, Hakoda's hand in Sokka's hair, caressing the boy, and for once, Katara did not see her brother, the apparition of pride, shrug away from the tender gesture.

"Sleep well, Katara, angel."

"You too, Father."

"Goodnight, Katara."

"Goodnight, Sokka."

She watched them file humbly from the room, Hakoda's fingers turning the light down and silently closing the door as they went.

-----

Crackle. Snap. Katara heard every sound as if it manifested on the tip of her ear. Sounds emitting from the outside... She listened with steadfast, wide eyes, not agitated but lured and intrigued. The gentle brush of leaves, crunching of twigs, and scrapes of stone rang through the window, and why they were so clearly spotted by her, she did not know. She could only lay there and listen.

Finally her absorption bested her and she threw the quilt from her legs, springing from her mattress and hurrying to the open window.

The moonlight was powerfully bright. She squinted in surprise, shying from the centre of it's exquisite glow. When huddled safely back in the shadows just by the window's side, she set her hand on the sill and leaned her ear a tad more into the air. Tranquillity clutched the night; she knew there was no danger.

When sounds were not enough to sate her, she dared an eye, and then the other, peering straight below at the base of the house wall.

A boy, clad in black, a mask of majestic blue set upon his eyes, was grasping the vines that lined the wall, preparing to climb.

Katara's heart raced; she tore herself from an area of vulnerability, an area where he may see her, marvelling to herself in the darkness. Her excitement built more rapidly than she could contain, and she scurried deeper into the darkness of the room just to be sure he could not hear her breath or see her hair glimmer.

She thought quite adventurously about returning to her bed, playing the part she had always played in their past encounters, but could not bring herself to retreat. She longed to speak to him, and he to her; he had a fine pair of lips, and for what better use than speaking in engrossed conversation? Behind his mask was a whole history, a lifetime, a childhood. He had aged as she had, she could see that: just by watching the way he grappled the vines, she saw the same shape of shoulders and arms she had seen on Sokka, the same maturing figure. How tall he must be now, as Sokka was, how much more enchanting now that he was no longer a child... how many more questions of his being would rattle her mind. He was not at all a figment of childish imagination: he was an indubitable and true person.

At long last she had no choice but to thrust herself back into the night air, seeking him.

And suddenly they were nose to nose.

Katara gasped and the both of them sprang in unison, startled by the other's closeness. For her, leaping was not a problem for she had sure ground to land on.

But as for the boy...

She watched in horror as both of his grips failed; he was thrown back, doomed to fall a heap into the garden---

At the last second his hands snatched the flurry of vines in a rebuff, catching himself against the wall.

Katara felt as if her whole energy had been drained; her arms were extended in a feeble attempt to seize him from the descent and seemed to be frozen in that position. Slowly they lowered, and the boy's wide eyes turned up to meet hers.

Against her better judgment, she laughed breathlessly.

"Oh, my--- I am terribly sorry!"

The boy blinked, his chest lifting in a calming exhale, and then it seemed the shy hint of a smile lit his lips too, but she could not be certain. She just stepped back from the window to allow him purchase as he gruffly completed his climb. His figure was bigger, a crouching bobcat, his silhouette blanketing a larger portion of the moonlight. He paused there on the window sill, as if wrestling with his newfound doubt concerning the level of safety in Katara's immediacy, and the fact that their relationship was no longer dreamer and phantom. It was now gentleman and woman, and in an ironic way, the moment seemed as formal as two ambassadors meeting at a dinner party.

Katara watched in awe as he at last lowered himself into her room. He was indeed taller, exceeding her height by a good few inches, but despite the other blatant changes in his age, he seemed also quite the same. He wore the same, entirely black clothing, the trousers tucked into boots, the loose shirt and flowing sleeves tucked into gloves, the dark hair... The slender nose and eyes darkened by the night, skin that looked silver, a reflection of the moon.

The boy flexed his fingers and retreated as she had from the direct rays of the window, draping the shadows of a corner about him. They stood divided by that one pillar of light, he nigh impossible to see.

"Don't worry," she cooed, just as she had those years before. "There is nothing to be afraid of. I am very sorry I made you slip; you gave me quite a shock, but I can see I did the same to you."

He said nothing, only watched her intently and warily from the darkness.

She wet her lips, wringing her hands slightly as an illustration of the search for words inside her head.

"I... I do hope this does not mean my home has not been hospitable," she guessed, working for formality. "You... Well, your absence has been noted, tis all."

Again nothing, only glittering eyes.

"I will not inquire as to why you have not come for so long," she continued, "and maybe stating the fact is inquiry enough, so again I apologize... I just can't help wondering, you see. Your visitations have been quite... well, I am certainly getting ahead of protocol. May I introduce myself?"

She brushed out the rumples of her gown and curtsied politely.

"My name is Katara. I am the daughter of Count Hakoda. Oh... I suppose you already know that, don't you?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yes. So, it is my pleasure to welcome you officially to our home and... I do hope we can become further acquainted."

This last fraction of her sentence was both procedure and a genuine wish, but something about the situation in general seemed... unrealistic. As if bringing custom into such a meeting was soiling it.

She sighed in confusion, staring deep into the boy's eyes. He only stared back, waiting for her to speak.

"Now, that is strange. I do not know why, but it seems manners just are not bringing their intended charm or impression. Are you receiving the same feeling?"

He hesitated, and then nodded.

"Truly?" Her face perked in amazement. "Well, then, I say we excuse them completely. I think we are both familiar enough with each other to skip them anyway."

As if responding to this lax gesture by the hostess, the boy began to saunter from his original hiding place; an aimless action as far as destination went, however it suggested the mood she had intended to create. And even through his movements, his eyes remained respectfully on her, as if he was determined not to miss a single cue or word of command from her lips.

"May I ask you something?" she said, she too moving in his relative direction. "The only reason I ask is that I am not entirely sure I will get an answer."

He stopped moving and began to finger his gloves. He seemed to study her very thoroughly, as if reading something.

"Well, an oral answer, anyway," she said. "And I am perfectly content to accept your boundaries of communication, but will you extend some sort of response?"

Again, he nodded obediently.

She sighed, parting her lips to ask her question, and suddenly chuckled.

"It's incredible. I have so many questions, I cannot narrow them down. I was foolish to ask; I shall never be sated."

And like an extension of reassurance, the boy moved to stand directly before her, cocking his head in that same courteous, dutiful manner. She looked long into his eyes and there were words there, conditions she could understand and accept. She voiced them as if they were of her own making.

"I know; if you cannot answer the question, simply indicate so with a shake of your head, and if you can answer... well, that we shall discover as we go along."

His eyes were agreeable. She nodded.

"Right. Well, let me see..."

There was silence while she thought, looking with narrow eyes at the carpet. He waited like a stone sculpture.

Katara considered and organized her wondering carefully. The last thing she desired was to offend him in some way, or anger him, and that precaution illuminated a great portion of all her questions. In the end, she was left with barely anything.

"Do you have a home?" she asked. It was dreadfully abstract and possibly one that should have been illuminated, but it seemed to be the first thing out of her mouth. Luckily, her tone had shaped it as genuine concern and an extension of generosity.

He seemed to take it that way, and she felt relieved.

The boy's eyes were negative but he nodded.

Katara kept his answer safe and secret in her heart, and planned to do so with all the rest, for further examination.

"Oh, that's good." She caught herself there, blushing faintly in embarrassment at the breeziness of the comment, but he just smiled slightly, excusing it.

She was entranced for a moment by his smile, and had in her mind a vision of her hand reaching into the horizon, gently moving the glowing, orange sun aside and seeing that smile etched out in the firmament.

She wet her lips and looked at the carpet, suddenly intimidated by his eyes, and sought out a new question.

"Do you live in the Royal City, or out here in the country?"

He stared at her meaningfully, and she giggled, realizing her error.

"Pardon me. Do you live in the Royal City?"

He shook his head.

"No. Here in the country, then?"

Again, he shook his head.

She blinked.

"Oh, well... can you indicate from the window where you live? Or is it in a neighbouring province?"

He gestured with a hand, moving towards the window sill upon which he seemed to belong, and she came to his side, the closest she had been to him in all the time they had spent together; twas a brief amount, but nonetheless meaningful. Together they fit in the upright rectangle of the window with many inches to spare; his shoulders were not yet that broad. With a black finger, the boy guided her gaze out into the breathtaking environment as if lifting the veil of blindness from a hermit's eyes. His glove traced the crest of the foothills beyond the forest leading into the mountains, their gentle rise and somewhat majestic inferiority compared to the colossal rocks at their backs.

"You live up in the foothills?" Katara interpreted, turning to look up at him over his shoulder. He did the same and his eyes, in intimate proximity to hers and glittering in the full blown glare of the moonlight, were mesmerizing. Around them, his mask was the most breathtaking blue she swore she could ever see.

He shrugged, a so-so response, and motioned back out the window. She watched his finger drift further down from the foothills, spiralling somewhat in airy patterns, following an invisible path as he would a trail on a map. She understood.

"I see. You are mobile in living?"

He nodded, but did not look proud of the fact.

"Is it comfortable for you?"

A shake of the head, and a very disgusted one at that. Even still, the way he crinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes made her laugh kindly.

"I mean no offense," she amended quickly with a smile. "I only hope you have found comfort in coming here. Urh--- to the valley, that is, not specifically to my house."

She wandered off in slight discomfort from the window, fingers tinkering with each other below her breast. His eyes followed her back, immersed and solid as ever, but he did not move from his place.

"I told you this before," she murmured after a moment, and snagged his eyes from over her shoulder. Her face was apologetic but awfully wishful, yearning. He would not have a fair chance of resistance at all should she plead with him.

"You have presented yourself so... _curiously_, I cannot help but wonder everything there is to wonder. Please excuse my childish inquisitions. I know they are frank, but I must know. I must know... everything. I am too fully enthralled and involved in your presence now to be left in the dark."

The boy set his elbow on the window sill and laid his weight against it, gazing out into the trees robed with night.

"Who are you?" she asked, as if desperate. "Where did you come from, where do you run off to, _why_ do you come here? Please do not extend our acquaintance any longer before these bases are explicated."

Still, he stared on, as if tormented. Katara looked down at her hands, unafraid now of being candid, but still quite sensitive to his feelings, to his own sensitivity.

"I admire you very much," she admitted. "When I was younger, you were like a dream to me, a phantom of dreams. You amazed and enraptured me, and I could never tell anyone about you, not a soul. You appeared at such appropriate times, it was as if a hand of greater power had sent you to me just to be there, silent beside my bed. I cannot think of my past childhood without you now, even though you appeared on very few occasions and even then between drastic lapses of time... You are here now, present, tangible, and so there is no hope in me forgetting you, or ceasing to wonder; wonder still, wonder more. Always more."

Her monologue seemed a breeze to him; he shivered as if brushed with ice, or a ray of sunlight.

And then he turned, walking towards her, his steps long and solemn and very beyond his years.

Her breath caught in her chest when the cold leather of his gloves touched her folded hands, squeezing them tighter together. She watched his mask descend upon her, felt his hair brush the side of her face, the coldness of his skin on her cheek... his breath in the pocket of her ear as he whispered,

"I am sorry."

She heard barely a voice through the words, only the wind speaking through a child's throat or a young boy's heart.

And suddenly there was a knock on her door.

"Katara? Darling, are you awake?"

He was sucked from her presence like a soul from a chest. He suddenly stood a good three feet from her, eyes on the door. So startled was he, and so calm was she, that she almost laughed. Fear of her father? It was unheard of.

But the reality of the situation came through, the predicament of his display ringing before her. She heard the door handle tweaked, preparing to be opened. There was not time enough to dash to the window.

She darted swiftly to her bed, motioning he follow. Her hand guided him down to the ground. She pointed at the darkness below her mattress.

"Under. Go," she whispered.

He obeyed, lowering himself onto one shoulder. Quickly he rolled beneath her bed, enveloping himself completely in shadow. Even knowing he was there, she could never have hope of seeing him.

The door opened. Light spilled upon her matted and tousled quilt, shattering the beam into broken waves.

Her Father appeared hunched from sleep in his robe, clutching a lamp in case needed. He saw her crouched and leaning over the edge of her bed and their expressions were equal in surprise.

"Katara, dear," he said, in the tone that posed an introduction to a question; in other words, a chiding, "is there a reason you are up so late?"

"_Is_ it late?" she asked innocently. She tucked her bare feet under her quilt, pulling the rest briskly towards her waist.

"It is indeed." His voice was gruff, clogged with unused snores. "Were you speaking with someone?"

She shook her head. "Just myself."

"Hm." He stepped into the room and moved to her bed, closing the door a bit to exclude the burning light. She watched him lower himself onto the side of her bed with a sigh, and then smile at her groggily.

"To yourself, then? About what, may I ask?"

"This foothills," she said immediately, improvising... but this vein of thought was actually useful. She looked out the window at the blinding moon settled beside the mountain as if they were two lovers, their arms wrapped about each other. She lead her father's eyes with an outstretched finger, just as the boy had with her.

"The foothills?" her father clarified, though she doubted the attention he was truly giving; he blinked often in the vast cascade of silver light.

"Yes. Do people live there?" she asked.

"Nomads, perhaps," her father grunted, and rose to a stand. "Good heavens, how can you sleep with all this light pouring in---"

Even as he said it, his hand lifted to reach the drapes and close them.

Objection clutched her heart.

"Oh, no, Father, don't!" she cried.

He turned, startled. "Is something wrong?"

"I do not mind at all, really," she said quickly, shrinking back. "It's quite lovely, the moon. Please don't close the drapes, nor the window. It's all so pleasant. Have you felt the breeze? It's refreshing, a good helping hand to induce sleep."

He lifted an eyebrow, smiling, and returned to her bed.

"Well, that is professional enough. Have you been practicing?"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I seldom use flower talk to persuade you."

"You should hear what turmoil Kana experiences trying to sate your star-lighted, pleading eyes and the rules of this house harmoniously."

"That is mostly of Sokka's doing."

He tapped her nose like a scolding and rose from the bed, stretching as he did so.

"So, we shall have a very elaborate lesson about the foothills and their inhabitants tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, you will be hastening to sleep."

"Fine. Goodnight, Father." She cuddled herself beneath the blanket and smiled up at him.

"Goodnight, my little wonderer." He bent and kissed her forehead, a scruffy pair of lips she had felt upon her brow countless times.

His fatherly tenderness was dismissed as he lifted the lamp back into his hands and slouched off towards the door, mumbling and yawning and rubbing his back. The light from the hallway grew and then dispersed as he exited.

Like always and with growing skill in the matter, she waited for the click of the door before leaping upright in bed and hanging her head over the side, searching for a blue mask or a pair of glittering eyes.

The boy was gone.

Something gray glinted in his place, but she took no time to examine it; she was too startled and disappointed by his leave.

A whisper of breath caught her ears, a flash of shadow danced across the floor. Her eyes vaulted upright.

All she saw was the last tremble of one of the drapes, as if something had just brushed past it with incredible speed and swiftness to rival a hunting owl.

She sighed, and thought she could make out the slowly fading trail of the boy's movements. She seemed to feel where he had tread, where the air was slightly warmer, where a little more light, a little more mystery, had been spilt.

He has to return now, she thought. He has no choice.

She remembered the vague glimmer of gray, a color that clashed darker with the moonlight. She bent back down to retrieve it. In her fingers, as she clutched it, it felt cold and smooth, small yet precious in her palm. Already, she knew it was a priceless treasure deposited beneath her bed.

When she drew the thing into her lap, she felt something lighter brush her hand, and then her wrist. It was a slender, delicate chain.

And it was attached to the thing that sat in the creases of her flesh: a battered locket.

The edges were a tad rusted, or probably stained. However, as she studied it, she found the copper colour was quite lovely against the silver, like an artist's touch of uniqueness. In it's surface was etched very gently a faint rose, almost invisible for it's dimness. But when she turned it in the light, she could see clearly it's edges carved in tiny, laced curves, illustrating the velvet touch that could not be felt through metal, only imagined or recollected. In the entirety, the jewel was beautiful and indescribably valuable. She felt no right to hold it, but did feel an obligation and desire to protect it.

She had her guesses as to where it came from, but until that was confirmed and the locket was taken back by it's rightful owner, she would not examine it any further. She could see it was made to be opened but resisted despite her great curiosity and enchantment.

"Shhh," she cooed, as if it were a child weeping from the absence of it's mother's hands. "You are safe now."

Carefully, so as not to make so much sound, she opened the drawer of her night stand and slipped the locket inside, watching the chain fold upon itself in the fashion of Kana pouring white pudding into a large golden vat.

And with one last tender look towards the window, she requested of the fleeting breeze,

"Please bring him back soon."

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**A/N**: awwwww. XD Let the Bluetaraness begin! Not so much in this episode, but it's called PROGRESSION. ;)

yes! they're growing up! lol i'm not going to put that issue down, am i?

Please Review! and keep reading!!


	6. The Plunder

6: THE PLUNDER

**A/N**: nothin much to say except... ZUTARA SHALL KICK BUMPY FROGS! lol sorry, there's a story behind that one i won't take the time to explain. XD. i'm sick and exhausted today... just got back from a huge Jazz Band Festival so yeah, i'm a little crazy. And when the flip is Avatar gonna start? hehe yeah rant over, fic up!

AND ONE IMPORTANT NOTE: Yes, this is set in the 1700s, but that does not mean it's in eighteenth century **England**. This takes place in a **nonexistent** Republic. Some customs may be the same as old England and then some may be different, you just have to go with the flow. As for language, if the characters are british sounding... you can decide that according to preference. k cool.

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Twas an overcast morning morphing into the afternoon, however the sun still shone through the clouds in one blinding, white sheen. In the white dining room, windows open to let in the sounds of the field and distant rivers, Princess Azula sat in solitude at the long, narrow table. A simple plate before her was bare but for morsels of tart, bread, and salad, small snacks that her slender, dainty fingers picked at with bored elegance. Her back, neck, and chin were straight, perhaps carved of stone; her eyes were downcast, lashes fanned and brow perked to suggest she was superior and unimpressed, as always.

Katara was begrudgingly herded by Kana into the dining room, continuously swatting the maid's hands from her back or waist, around which was tied a large and rather pompous white bow. Katara detested it. Azula did not honor them a glance as they entered, only continued to partake of her brunch with agonizing slowness.

"Where in high heaven is Sokka?" Kana demanded, muttering and spluttering irritably to herself as she bustled off into the kitchen.

"Azula," Katara greeted through her teeth.

"Katara," was the Princess' cool response.

Only moments later did a bloodcurdling shriek erupt from the swinging doors. The two girls started, sporting ranging levels of shock.

_"Pain in justice, you've soiled every inch of it!"_ Kana screeched. Her voice portrayed horror beyond fathoming. _"Reckless child, I should have you whipped raw for this!"_

"Oh, do _breathe_, woman," came a new voice, deep with maturity, and through the doors marched Sokka with a fresh exhibition of rolled eyes. Katara swallowed. His turquoise coat and trousers were splattered with mud; it was still wet but beginning to dry and cake on the heels of his boots. Kana leapt, trembling, about him, raking his wet, dripping hair for signs of clod. He swatted her away and began to remove his coat, ignoring her cursing and blubbering. Beneath that, his white shirt was too stained, but only near the buttons where the fabric was exposed.

"Good heavens, Sokka," Katara said. "What in the world were you doing out there?"

"I was ambushed," he said matter-of-factly. His smile was adorably mischievous. "Any remaining survivors should be spotted any moment now..."

"Go, go wash up!" Kana barked, slapping Sokka in the direction of the staircase. But then she grabbed his sleeve and began to commandeer him back to the table almost against her will. "Well, no--- eat! Eat and with haste, and may the gods help you when your Father returns home! This shall never be clean again, never again! Ruthless demon--- should have attended to your studies as you were told!"

"I had, truly!" Sokka protested, laughing now. "But we do not own the fields, my dear sweet Kana."

"What did you mean by 'ambushed'?" Katara asked. Kana had not yet had the time nor the attention to serve her brunch. 

"Ambushed by rebels, of course," Sokka said, grinning viciously.

"Rebels! I do say--- lying little heathen!" Kana slapped Sokka a second time upside his ear. "I shall have you throttled for this atrocity!"

"All this fuss over a pathetic _coat_." Sokka shook his head.

"A pathetic coat! A pathetic coat, is that all!" Kana wrung her fists furiously and set off towards the staircase with said _pathetic_ coat. "Totally undisciplined, completely barbaric..."

"Oh, lovely Kana," Sokka called, "I do believe my attacker was on his way here."

She turned in disgust. "What nonsense is th---"

"Sokka? You there, old yellow liver?"

Katara's heart suddenly raced; there could not have been a more handsome voice in all the world. All eyes skipped to the dining room entrance.

Jet's soiled head entered the premises, dark copper skin and radiant black eyes followed by a pair of broad shoulders, about which hung the remains of what had once been a coat like Sokka's; now it was little more than a construction of dirt and water. In his hand was his sword sheathed in a pure black scabbard; Katara had made note that while Sokka had pursued archery, Jet had exerted the same effort to fencing. She had seen the most gruelling of fencing, some spars and some stage battles, and had been forever astounded by their precision and aggression. Now, she longed to see the blooming sweetheart of her early and present childhood wield his sword with such expertise.

"Young Master Freer!" Kana seemed all the more appalled. "What in Sozin's name--- Where is Mr. Jedias Freer?"

"Just half a mile behind, I suppose," Jet said. It was here that he panned the present persons; he bowed ruggedly to Azula.

"Your Highness..."

She only made a face of deep disgust and returned to her nibbles.

When Jet's eyes came to Katara, his formidable smile made her tremble as her element water did when brushed by the wind. It was not the same as cowering beneath Lu Ten's masculine beauty: that was mere innocence exposed to maturity. Jet, on the other hand, had captured her heart long ago, for far more sincere reasons. How she had adored him, and how she continued to adore him all through the years.

"Good afternoon, Katara. You are looking as beautiful as ever. You do not mind if I look somewhat inferior, do you? Or if I exaggerate that fact?"

"Not at all," she stammered.

"You are a schmaltz, my friend," Sokka droned to Jet.

"And you are the rebel ambush Sokka spoke of?" Katara cocked her head.

"The very same," Jet said proudly, stepping fully into the dining room. "May I?""Please," Katara said quickly, before Sokka could. She offered a chair.

"My father really shall arrive shortly," Jet announced, throwing Kana a reassuring smile. "Along with your master. They met in the city, and such invitations were exchanged."

She nodded gruffly and extended a hand.

"Here, let me take your coat. Go on, go on." She sighed when she had collected her chore and turned yet again to depart. "I shall have to have a moment to pray; I shudder at the thought of what your fathers will think of this chaotic muddle."

"Give my regards to the gods," Sokka said, saluting, and the old maid only stuck up her chin in indignation.

"Thank you very much," Jet added. He did not receive much better than Sokka had.

Beneath Jet's coat was a partially soiled blouse, like Sokka's, though a much looser linen that left Katara momentarily breathless. Rolling up a cuff to reveal a slender, dark wrist, he pulled out the chair between where she and Sokka and sat. He made sure to seat as little of his stained trousers on the chair as possible before settling into a smirk.

"A fine battle, if I may say so," he proclaimed. Azula stood not a moment after without an excuse of leave, striding decisively in the direction of the main staircase, where Jet had come.

"Aye," was Sokka's response. "It only goes to show the world what havoc you can wreak on a man's head _without_ bending abilities."

He shot Katara a knowing glance; she scowled and turned to Jet.

"What exactly happened?"

"My father and I had met the Count while in the Royal City," Jet began. "As I said, invitations were given for us to join your family in brunch. Sokka was not with us, and when I inquired of his whereabouts, thinking he would normally accompany his father on political business as I did, I learned he was in the far fields attending to his archery studies. Though this, I knew to be only half true."

"I was fully focused," Sokka protested, and then smiled, "...more or less."

"I had my own steed, and so requested an excuse by the men to go retrieve him. Such I was granted, and set off alone at a fast pace. And then, with stealth the owl and the falcon shall soon learn to rival, I caught him with his guard as far down as a rebel's honour."

"I do object," Sokka said, lifting a finger humorously. "You are offering only one side of the story."

"The only relevant side."

"Not so."

"Oh, admit it, I could have gutted you had I wanted to." Jet's smirk was triumphant.

"Now that is interesting," Sokka exclaimed. "Fifteen years old and already gutting people!"

"You would not have felt it, my blade being so swift."

"You would die of fright yourself only moments later."

"Gore does not strike fear in me, son of the Count."

"I should be delighted to fix that, son of the official."

Katara only simpered at such boyish exchanges and decided on going to the kitchen to fetch her own meal, seeing as Kana was delayed and she was finding herself more and more hungry with each passing moment. She swept herself from the table, hoping to not be noticed, and made her way through the swinging doors.

At the far end of the kitchen was a second door that opened into the Grand Hall. It did so at the far end of the Hall, in a darker area few ever saw where chefs led by Kana would wheel out champagne and refreshments during the numerous parties. It was also through this door that Katara heard another door open: the large, front oak doors of her home.

Talking voices leaked into the Hall, muffled but still detectable. She opened peered out to investigate and saw what she expected.

Count Hakoda walked lightly beside Mr. Freer, Jet's father, both men with coats over their arms and pipes and parchment in their hands. They were speaking quickly, lively and animated in conversation, humorous yet as the sentences and phrases skipped by she would discern a brief note of solemnity, urgency. All in all, it was adult's talk that she cared little for and needed not worry about.

Hakoda caught her figure across the room; he was very little beneath the massive pillars and expansive marble floor.

"Hello, angel," he called, waving. "You remember Mr. Freer?"

"Hello, Father," she said. "Yes, I do. A pleasure to have you here, sir."

"The pleasure is mine," Mr. Freer replied, and his smile was dark, secretive; such it was when you ran an occupation hunting the masked and disguised. Katara had never fathomed the seriousness and relevance of the Rebel Snatchers and their duties; she was not in on politics and so only assumed their services were much needed.

Though all in all, it still seemed brutish.

"Has Jet arrived fashionably?" Mr. Freer asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Katara smiled timidly. "It may not be my place to say, sir."

It had not been five minutes before back in the dining room, Jet's ear was snagged from behind painfully in the vicelike grip of his father's fingers. Sokka soon underwent the same treatment, Count Hakoda's hand clamped violently on his shoulder.

"Well, well," Mr. Freer purred threateningly, whilst annoying his son's moaning. "Apparently the human race has been experiencing a lack of common sensibility lately. No scratch that; we live in a fine and civil community! The gaping hole must _only_ be coming from the adolescent whelp of my immediate family."

Katara did not fear for Jet's physical well-being. She had no reason to fear for Sokka, for she knew her Father was as tender as a doe and could never harm a child. And though she did not think the same for Mr. Freer in the slightest, she still knew Jet was in the hands he had known his whole life, and so would find not much trouble coping with them.

As if to accentuate her conclusion, Jet laughed and was able to wriggle free of his father's grip; the man himself was smirking.

"I will wash up, then," Jet said, caressing his ear.

"What a fascinating proposal. You should definitely put it into affect." Mr. Freer took a seat beside the head chair, from which Hakoda had pulled Sokka and sat in himself.

"You too," her father chided, eyeing Sokka with eyes that foretold of a doomed lecture sitting not far distant.

Jet and Sokka, both chortling nervously, filed informally from the dining room in the direction of the outside laundry platform, where a large fountain of water would await them, thirsting for their filth.

Katara watched their departure with rising anxiety, the departure of her heart's infatuation. She turned hastily to her father.

"Father, may I accompany them? They may need a helping hand with towels and such."

Hakoda's brow raised doubtfully while Mr. Freer chuckled and said,

"Well, considering the level of maturity they have displayed so far, I say a woman's aid is fitting."

"Go on, dear," Hakoda consented, smiling himself.

Katara nodded in thanks and hurried herself in the trail of the boys.

-----

Hakoda's smile faded as Katara did. He looked at Mr. Freer gravely from over folded knuckles.

"What is the problem?" he asked immediately.

"These rebels," Mr. Freer said with ferocity. "They are growing too numerous."

"What have you found?"

"More than I can hold. Hakoda, my glory days have passed; I am growing older with each passing day. I feel my body waning. It won't be long before Jet, being my eldest son, will take my place."

"Do you think he is fit for it?"

"Without a doubt. Jet may be an idiot in play, but in battle, he has the focus and control of a hawk. His passion for our kingdom exceeds all others. He will hunt the rebels like he were hunting injustice itself."

"Then what is the matter, we being in such a strong position leadership-wise?"

"It's not the leaders I doubt. It is their supporters."

"What does this have to do with numbers?"

"Hakoda, I have been in this occupation for a good portion of my lifetime. My eyes do not lie; they know rebels when they see them, and I tell you now, Count, you are letting your guard down."

Hakoda's eyes flickered and darkened. It was indeed a strange twist in the conversation. "Explain, Jedias."

"I have seen shadows, darkness moving with stealth, small but detectable, and far too devious for my physical condition, in the fields just behind your home. In your very garden, I could swear the hands of rebel thieves and plunderers were at work. By the gods, Hakoda, they are practically on your doorstep!"

"My area guards would have seen them. I would have known long ago if rebels were sauntering about my home."

"Your area guards fail you, by one way or another. I do not know the details, Hakoda, the swindles of these tramps, but I do know they are here, and they are thriving under your nose."

"Jedias. I am not a Snatcher. They are not my responsibility to arrest every moment of the day. I have other issues to attend to, buisness, my occupation, my family. I cannot push aside my very title to---"

"Not your responsibility!" Mr. Freer repeated incredulously. "Rubbish! Count Hakoda, you have been in the battlefield for a good amount of years, you have risked your life on countless occasions to defend our country, our king and princes, and yet now with the simple chore of arresting bandits, you say it is not your responsibility! It should at the least be your _obligation_."

"It is not, Jedias. If these rebels have been so easily spotted and recorded by you, it is you and your men who are negligent. Are you sitting there staring at them while you could be upon them?"

"You are missing the most important point, Count. These rebels are growing in numbers because they see that you stand as no threat. Every night there are more of them, I swear it. I repeat, my eyes do not lie, not while I have thus worked for twenty seven years. They flock to your walls as they would to a refuge!"

"Then arrest them! You speak as if you bid them escape every night."

"I have no choice! They are too quick, and too much in number! Seven at the most I have seen. Seven, Hakoda! My thirteen men and I cannot advance seven rebels at one time, seven skilled robbers armed to their teeth with gods know what. It may seem pathetic, but it is true. I have had my share of brawls and lost many men. These tramps, however low in the dust they may be, they are not fools. They have skill, I tell you, fatal skill."

"I am sorry, my friend," Hakoda said. His voice was deep and grave, bordering on frustration. "I find it hard to believe you. Do you exaggerate to make your point? I cannot believe that my area guard has not spotted these men, has left you so helpless."

"It does not matter if you believe me or not, or if I exaggerate. And I swear to you now I do not. The fact of the matter is that you have left us like leaving children to play with kid wolves, while as they mature into beasts you do not turn an eye or lift a finger in concern. You take this matter too lightly."

"I myself have stood on my front steps and scanned the night for years," Hakoda defended. "I give my part, and when I see rebels, I arrest them. When I feel your presence inappropriate or your weapons too near my children, I dismiss you. One or two rebels are lost, no matter, but I do give my part."

"One or two! You seem to forget that with mercy they will multiply. Hakoda, I beg of you---"

"Jedias---"

"Listen to me! You are an honorable man. Do not taint it with laziness, with underestimation. I have never known you to show or even possess such traits. Strengthen your eye. Attack! Do not defend! It is the only way to beat these scoundrels down."

"My children cannot afford any less of a Father than they already have. You ask me to devote my energy to catching rebels; I already am absent from my home for most of the day. The time I have within my own walls is precious to me."

"I ask you to help us, not for you to forsake your family or your political duties, for this includes both. What will happen, Hakoda, when you have let your eyes slip so much that the rebels are able to enter your home? You are so concerned for your children. What will happen should rebels lay hands on them? Will it take that much to open your eyes?"

"Rebels have never entered my home and never will. I do acknowledge that risk, but I---"

"But what? Do you think King Ozai, your dear friend from childhood, would have you busy your hands with so many tasks and yet let the most dangerous of issues pass unnoticed? Do you not think he would call to my side if he were standing here before us now?"

"Yes. I do know he would."

"Then why do you still resist? Gods, man, you gamble with your children's lives! You sound foolish, waving my warnings off this way. You are not a foolish man, you have great wisdom. Use it! Employ it and make it matchless. I know you, Hakoda. I know you will sharpen your efforts."

The Count's eyes grew distant and sombre. He stared endlessly out through the several distant windows from which light seemed to sing, yet he could not reach the light. He was swimming in darkness.

"Indeed, I have gambled my children," he said finally, with weakness and fright in his voice. "What a wretch I am."

"Modify yourself, then. The path is clear before you."

Again, silence reigned. Mr. Freer waiting patiently, without a hint of urgency. His eyes were only expecting, his fingers drumming the table only satisfied.

"I will consent," the Count said finally. "I apologize for causing you this strife, for abandoning your purpose, and I will double my defences, my application. But if this takes me from my children, by the gods..."

"Trust me, Hakoda. It will bring you nearer to them."

-----

_ The day passed with laughter and success, at least in my eyes, and I must admit, no other eyes mattered to me at that age. It had been strange seeing Jet and Sokka acting as though they were friends, when I knew in the past they had given each other little awe, and even less regard to begin with. Even still, I remembered something my father had said, that when people grow and mature, they realize those relationships they could not keep in tact when little children are easy to do so in later years. Jet and Sokka were now, in my mind, adults, for fourteen and fifteen years were many when looking up at them from only twelve. And so, they being adults now, I grew used to their camaraderie. Apparently a sparring and wrestling in the mud was a new method of introduction among the male sex._

_They had accepted my presence, and I did little to participate in their talking or merry making. I was content to just sit with my gaze upon Jet, a flirtatious pose and kittenish eyes, only falling deeper and deeper into adoration that peculiarly enough had slipped my mind during the past weeks when we had not seen him._

_After lunch and a farewell, and after a moment of yearning to ride beside Jet on his steed, the evening came... as did something I would never have expected._

_-----_

"Katara!"

"Yes, Kana, coming."

"Hurry, dear, the water is growing cold!"

From Katara's bedroom was a sliding door that lead to a small bathing room. The basin was large and bronze, big enough to host Katara even in her adult years. Around it were cupboards and stools holding all sorts of shampoos and cosmetics.

Katara submitted herself to Kana's hands while still upon the carpet of her chamber. Those fingers, knobby and gnarled, quickly undid the bindings in Katara's hair and the buttons of her gown. Swiftly and with precision Kana removed the girl's stockings, undergarments, and petticoat, tossing them aside in a hurry. While Katara shivered in her sudden nakedness, Kana fetched the fleece robe and shoved the child's arms through, tying it roughly about her waist and securing the breast shut with buttons.

"Come, come, quickly," she said, and seized Katara's wrist to lead her to the tub. A small platform cushioned and raised from the ground was before the tub's south end, where an indent in the rim was the perfect size for the girl's small head. Katara routinely seated herself atop the platform in the comfortable cushions and laid herself down with her head towards the tub. She closed her eyes, whilst Kana's hands fitted the bulk of her head in the dip of the rim. Katara's hair fell backwards into the warm water. The splashing sounds of Kana's hands and the brisk tugs on her scalp signaled the shampooing process that Katara could not see. She sighed as the wetness touched the roots of her hair, when small droplets of water would land on her brow or cheeks. Suddenly her entire body felt clean, even before it had been lowered into the bath.

Kana's washings were always quick and efficient. When the smell of pearl had nearly intoxicated them both, she fetched the next formula, a gentle honey scent. The two smells, once massaged and battered in the water by Kana's fingers, blended rather nicely and relaxed Katara further.

Kana began to hum, a tune she claimed Katara's mother Arla would sing to Hakoda and to Sokka, and would have sang to Katara were she still alive, inducing the emotional division of the cleansing bath. Those moments were the ones Katara wished the most desperately to meet her mother.

"All right, up you go." Kana turned to wring her hands in a towel even before Katara had opened her eyes. The old woman fetched a second one from the far corner while Katara lifted herself onto her elbows. There she remained, poised, as Kana enveloped her stream of newly washed hair in the towel and scrubbed it half dry. She felt her poor locks battered and bumped and even wrinkled her nose a few times in discomfort; Kana's tenderness was not like her father's.

Kana finished the drying with a rub of the scalp, which knocked several strands to fall from their place into Katara's eyes. They were all still damp, a dark brown mop of heavy hair hanging down to her waist with a layer of golden fluff sitting on top, the thin, gentle strands that had dried in mere moments. Katara braced herself then for the combing, which she knew indeed may be painful.

It was less painful than it could have been, though Kana was not any more mild in her movements. Her brushing job was erratic and fearless, striking the snarls and knots from their place as lightning would shatter a mountain peek. Katara's eyes watered at times but she bit back her emotions.

It was now time to wash her body, but as Kana lifted her to a stand there was a knock at the door.

"Kana?" came her father's voice.

"Yes, sir, coming," Kana called back, and kissed Katara's cheek, a loving gesture that softened the roughness of her handling so far. "Wait a moment, dear."

Katara watched the old woman slip through the paper-thin sliding door and to the oak door behind which Hakoda waited. 

Sighing, she aimlessly collected her wet hair and began to wring it, trying to subdue the patch of dampness that it had burned into the back of her robe. She heard the door close, Hakoda and Kana's steps disappearing down the hallway. It must be a long errand.

She got herself down from the platform and onto the cold tile floor, from which she hurried and secured herself on the warm carpet. 

Still wringing her hair, she took one nonchalant look at her open window and instantly gasped.

The boy in the blue mask was there, perched on the sill with fear in his eyes.

"It's you!" she breathed, and smiled excitedly. She did not remember that she was grossly underdressed for their meeting; standing in a fleece bathrobe before a gentleman was horridly immodest, and would have given any other woman a fatal heart attack.

But even as she smiled, he did not smile back.

The boy swung himself down into her room noiselessly and bounded to her nearest dresser. Without any invitation of any kind he threw the first drawer open and shoved it's articles aside, racking it as if seeking something. Katara watched, aghast and speechless.

The boy apparently failed and with desperation moved to the next drawer, doing the same thing: scattering it's items about on the floor, scouring for what was not there.

He gave up on that dresser and bolted to the next, thrusting the first drawer open that he could lay hands on.

Katara finally found her voice and cried, "What are you doing?"

He did not answer; she knew he would not. He only continued his combing with an air of great fear and anxiety. He swept his arm across the top of her highest shelf, feeling for what he sought. Books and dolls fell onto the floor in a heap. Katara leapt forward to collect them.

"Stop it! What are you looking for?" she demanded nervously, but he paid her no more heed than before. She watched him dart about, upturning chairs, throwing aside the quilt of her bed, ducking underneath to look below, ransacking every corner with trembling hands.

"Really!" Katara scolded. "This is unacceptable! Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you!"

The boy's eyes seemed to alight with a sudden epiphany. He dashed to her night stand with hope in his movements. Before she could stop him--- if she ever had power to in the first place--- his gloved hands tore the small, single drawer open.

His body froze and then relaxed in almost the same moment; it seemed to her that he finally breathed.

With a newfound gentleness that defied all the disorder he had previously generated, he lifted from the drawer the silver locket Katara had recovered the night before.

Katara's heart swelled in realization; she felt all her anger and fright dissipate into oblivion.

The boy cradled the locket in his palm and fell back on her bed in obvious relief. She heard his breathing, his drawn breaths of consolation, of unimaginable fear for what could have been. With careful steps, Katara moved to the end of the bed, setting her hand on the post and watching him. He gazed down at the treasure, running a black finger over the etched rose design as if stroking a woman's cheek.

And with the same finger he touched the corner of his eye, dabbing out a waiting tear.

"It... is yours, then," Katara murmured.

The boy did not start, only looked at her with the most unfathomable eyes... She felt all thought leave her head besides the phenomenon that he now sat upon her bed and clutched the locket as he would an infant.

"My mother," he whispered.

Again, just a small hint of his voice, a fair and fragile thing she thought she could never hold without breaking. How it touched her heart, how it exhilarated her with the feeling of flight, or the words of fantastical tales.

"Your mother," she repeated, and realized it endeared her to him more than anything they had experienced together so far. She knew from just the look of his eyes, the sound of his voice, everything there was to know. "Is your mother dead?"

His nod was weak and brimming with sorrow.

She was pulled to him by empathy, laying her hand on his shoulder and sitting closer than was perhaps appropriate. Neither of them seemed to care.

"I am so sorry," she said. "My mother is dead as well."

He seemed to already know. He looked back at the locket, stroking it.

"Did you know your mother?" Katara asked, unable to restrain herself.

The boy nodded.

"Oh." Katara sighed. "I never knew _my_ mother. She died after I was born."

The boy's eyes turned up to heed her; they were full of question, of wonder, but he voiced none of it. He almost had no need to do so. 

Instead he held out the locket, touching her free hand that sat in her lap with it's chain.

Katara stared at it in question, then realization, and then awe.

"May I open it?" she breathed, and could not keep the honour and excitement from her voice.

He nodded and smiled softly.

She beamed in return and carefully took it from him.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "You are very kind to share her with me. I wish there was something I had of my mother to share with you."

And then she giggled, seeing the pot of flowers on her night stand.

"But, oh... I suppose I do."

He glanced too at the flowers and chuckled in his own memory.

When his eyes returned to her hands, she took her leave to proceed.

With the tips of her fingers she opened the key to the boy's heart.

Inside the locket was a black and white painting of a woman. The woman was quite young, perhaps too young to have been wed. It must have been an earlier picture. Nonetheless, no magic or admiration was taken from Katara's eyes.

The woman's hair was dark, her eyes and lips too. Her skin was nigh white. Katara could see in the arrangement of her features the face of her son, the very boy that sat beside her. Such a delicate face, so kind and full of ambition, full of thought.

"She looks brave," Katara said spontaneously. "She knows her destiny; she can see it written. Something in her eyes... She can see her children, her future as a mother, and she is ready to teach them, determined. She cannot wait to hold them, to love and care for them."

A moment passed, and Katara smiled rather sheepishly at the boy, suddenly exposed. She cleared her throat.

"She is so very beautiful," she said as a casual compliment, yet it was ever so sincere. "I can see her in you."

And it was true; as she gazed into the boy's eyes she saw this woman as if she had manifested from the air.

The boy blinked and the swift apparition vanished. Katara smiled with a softer confidence.

"My father says I look like my mother." She sighed. "I have seen portraits of her, very old so the quality is feeble. Sometimes... sometimes I find it hard to believe him, when I have never met her."

The boy scrutinized her for a moment, reading the side notes of her spirit, before lifting his left hand, the one that sat below the shoulder she held. As if speaking millions of words, his fingers crept past her cheek to a strand of curled, damp hair that hung before her ear and down her breast. He touched this strand of hair, pressing it's coolness against her skin, and left it there in his grasp. And though his fingers were still, it was a caress to her. She closed her eyes and then felt his other hand gently take the locket. At the same moment, she felt his thumb touch the corner of her eye, calming the smallest eyelashes that quivered still.

"I have forgotten _another_ trinket of my mother's I can show you," she murmured, still not opening her eyes. But taking her words for a dismissal, the boy's hand departed back to his lap.

Her gaze reopened; he was waiting patiently. Without much leaving his side, Katara reached to the night stand drawer and sought a little deeper than he had, farther towards the back. When her hand withdrew, her fingers bore the silver chain with the azure jewel.

"This was my mother's; my father gave it to me when I was old enough to appreciate it."

She showed him it's beauty in the pocket of her hand, and when he extended a hand to touch it, he looked at her for consent. She nodded.

"Of course."

His fingers encircled the jewel and lifted it to his eyes. She saw something change in them, a new expression she had not seen before, like a fusing of two separate feelings, two individual hearts.

Still he was peaceful, and turned to smile at her.

"Yes, Hakoda, sir, I will; thank you."

Katara and the boy spun in the direction of the entrance in fear; Kana's voice was just another footstep away, muffled only slightly by the closed door.

"Go!" Katara whispered at once, only giving him one last look of farewell before hurrying to a stand. Behind her, she had not heard him leave, but she knew he was gone.

The door opened; Katara pretended to be startled, looking up from a fallen stocking the boy had scattered on the floor.

Kana's face lighted with shock. 

"Pain in justice!" she cried, seeing the mess. "Katara, what have you done?"

Behind her, the figure of Hakoda turned and looked over her shoulder in curiosity. He saw the disaster and too started.

"Goodness, Katara, what is this?"

"I..." Katara hurried to pick up a few blouses. "I was looking for something, Father."

"And you destroy everything!" Kana set her hand upon her heart. "A rebel plunderer might have passed through here! A gale, a twister!"

"Nonsense, Kana," Hakoda muttered, eyes flashing peculiarly. He hurried past her into the room. "It will not take long to clean this up."

Katara nodded and went about gathering items as quickly as she could. Her father sighed, setting a doll back onto the top of the shelf.

"Well, I am almost afraid to ask, but I pray you found what you were looking for, dear?"

Katara nodded. "Yes I did, Father."

"Here, here, sir, I can do that---" Kana hurried forward, remembering her duties, and took the dolls from Hakoda's hands. "You go on, now, you have business to see to. Katara and I can tidy up."

"Quickly, now," Hakoda said, moving to exit. "Dinner will be served soon."

"Yes, Father."

"Yes, sir."

The door closed behind him. Kana glared instantly. 

"May I ask what was so important that it involved the despoiling of this entire chamber?"

Katara smiled to herself, her back to the maid.

"A necklace."

-----

That night, when all had been cleaned, all had been put back into order, when dinner had been eaten and bedtime pronounced, Katara went into her drawer to retrieve her mother's necklace and stroke it, that perhaps she might further induce the story she had told to explain the mess. Show it to the boy had opened her mind to remembrance of just how precious it was to her, how much she loved it. She scolded herself for not wearing it more often and made a vow to do so.

But when she reached into the drawer and felt for it, it was not there.

Katara sat up, confused, and searched a little deeper with a stronger hand.

The necklace was gone.

Katara leapt from her bed. Surely it had been put away somewhere else; her mind had been full, she could easily have placed it in an obscure place.

She searched her room slowly but with growing anxiety. She found nothing.

"Kana!"

"Yes, dear?"

"Did you see my mother's necklace when you were tidying up this evening?"

"Well, I cannot say I did."

Together they searched, probing more carefully. Nothing was recovered.

"Father!"

"What is it, Katara?"

"Mother's necklace is missing!"

A third hand was added. Hakoda called Sokka.

"Katara's necklace from your mother is missing. Can you find it anywhere?"

Sokka searched. Hakoda searched. Kana did, and Katara the most of all.

"It did not leave this room," Katara murmured again and again, holding back tears. "It did not, I take it nowhere else."

The moon took it's place in the sky, night darkening every corner of her chamber, but where the moon's glow shone, it was never where the necklace was.

Katara wept that night, crying herself into a dejected sleep. No one could comfort her.

-----

As the large clock in the Grand Hall struck midnight, a hand touched Katara's shoulder.

She had awoken from a nightmare not long before and so did not need to be roused, nor was she started. Her heart was too heavy to be surprised. She turned glumly to whomever was waiting, blinking through newly brimming tears.

A brilliant blue mask looked down upon her; the window's light outlined the shape of a saddened face.

"Oh," she whispered, and out of manners stood from her bed, facing the boy in depression.

"I will not prove good company tonight," she mumbled, and did not notice his moving hand. "I have lost something very prec---"

There in the moonlight, held aloft in the boy's fingers, was the silver chain and the azure jewel.

Katara froze in horror and relief, in ecstasy and fury, and then leapt to snatch it. He let her take it, dropping his hand and moving shamefully back to the window.

She clutched the jewel, checking it's condition, smiling, shedding tears...

And then she looked up into the blue mask.

Blackness clouded her eyes. She trembled with rage and repulsion. The knuckles that clutched the chain were whiter than the stars; the small mold of it's links were imprinted in her flesh.

"_You_!" she exclaimed. "You stole it!"

He looked out the window, remorse illuminated in his features. He said nothing.

"You miserable thief!" she cried, and went forward to slap him, but she restrained, knowing better. His eyes turned on her daringly and with resignation, a fearful surrender.

"You are nothing more than a bandit, a _crook_!" she ranted. "How _dare_ you! Go now, leave, and do not _ever_ come back! I never want to see you again!"

No sooner had these words left her mouth before she regretted them. No sooner had she regretted them before he had obeyed.

With penitence in his eyes, he had slipped from the window sill onto the vines that scaled the house.

Katara leapt to the window's edge.

"Wait!"

The last she saw of him was folding slowly into the darkness.

-----

_And he disappeared forever... that is, until my fourteenth birthday._

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N**: dun dun dun! thanks for reading, pleaz review!


	7. The Haunted Office

7: THE HAUNTED OFFICE

**A/N**: yay this is a good turning point -! enjoy and pleaz review!! also i apologize for all the blabbing by katara but it's not as boring as it looks! XD lol

**IMPORTANT!:** wow, okay, i got some juicy news. I was just on YouTube and came across a HUGE ship war on a certain Avatar video. Zutara! Kataang! Zutara sucks! Kataang sucks! Zutara rocks! Kataang rocks! Zutara's gonna die! blablablablaBLA! it was CRAZY! And half of it was just ONE person contradicting everything anyone had said, just picking fight after fight! So, after witnessing that nest of immaturity, I made this resolution: WHO THE FLIP CARES! Canon or fanon, Zutara is still awesome. And one thing we need to ALL remember: AVATAR IS A T.V. SHOW. A CARTOON. **IT'S NOT LIFE** Some people take it WAY to seriously and those ridiculous ship wars are the result of that. I'm not saying i'm perfect; i've had my share in a ship war, but i've learned my lesson, and i can bet we've all been offended or offended someone, so... Let's just call it all to a stop, okay? Seriously. We don't need to make our lives harder by taking part in Ship Wars. Don't get me wrong, i feel really passionate about the ships, Zutara and Maiko being the extremes, but that doesn't give me or anyone the right to go picking fights with other people about it. So BE TALLER AND STAND ABOVE THE SHIP WARS! Better yet, work to promote peace!! Zutara or Kataang, whatever, may the best ship win, and Avatar is still an awesome show no matter how the shipping comes out!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_A whole new cast of characters were introduced into our lives, we being Sokka and I, over the next two years. They seemed to compensate for the lack of Prince Zuko, his absence being one factor that had slowed the 'Ozai-Hakoda children' bonding project by a considerable amount. Where before he, Azula, and occasionally Jet, when he and his father paid visits from the Royal City, had been our only source of friendship or peers, we were now receiving fresh specimens upon which to test our bonding skills. Most of them were students at the Royal Academy of Bending-- or other such superior schools-- places Sokka and I would have attended were we not to be privately tutored at home until the age of seventeen, thus meeting the children anyway_

_The first new face we met was Aang DeGéano, the nephew of renown religious leader Father Gyatso and a spry, hardworking, yet playful airbender. We had encountered them at a certain royal festival, where the young boys of Aang's religious school were to perform a symbolic and entertaining dance. Through certain ranking privileges, my father, Sokka, and I were able to meet some of the pupils and their master Gyatso in person. Aang's very presence brought light and fascination to what before could have been dull and dreary. He and Sokka became fast friends almost upon first word, while he was endeared to me at a similar rate; I insisted he write as often as possible whenever he was allowed, determined to carry our friendship throughout the span of our adolescent life and possibly beyond. It is a true delight in life to meet people you sincerely wish to see and enjoy again._

_During that same night, at that same festival, we had walked not far from Aang's performance to another, one that exhibited a team of young girls, perhaps a year older than Sokka, who had come from the eastern islands of Vespuccia. Their slanted eyes and rich accents were not the only things that distinguished their origin from ours: their performance was a brilliant and foreign dance featuring the usage of wide, golden fans stretched to their largest span, held aloft in delicately arched wrists. The girls wore exotic and breathtaking dresses of olive, white, black, and gold, their faces painted mysteriously and stunningly with the same tones. The dancing was not only sport but also revealed to be a method of fighting: at one point two girls singled out from the rest had taken center stage and engaged a wild and cunning battle using their fans and small finger knives. _

_It was perhaps half an hour into the performance, at one particularly intense part of the sparring, when one of those two girls, the leader of the team, had been knocked from her balance and off the stages edge. Sokka had been standing directly beneath and, practically spellbound, had lunged forward and caught her by the elbow, breaking her fall. However, much to our surprise, she had shoved him off indignantly and hastened back to her feet without thanking him. Sokka only remained in a state of awe, or confusion. It was not until after all performances had been carried out that the girl had pulled Sokka aside individually and thanked him with a rather sly and flirtatious eye. Sokka, upon standing directly before those intimidating and glamorous eyes, had been hard to call back to astute consciousness for the rest of the evening. The girl's name was Suki, with chestnut hair the length of her neck, and the eldest and most experienced of her comrades. Later that night we had visited her again, and I had found her, unlike before, a brilliant and enjoyable person. Upon hearing she and her team would be staying in Avatryal for the rest of the season, arrangements were made-- much for Sokka's benefit-- for future meetings._

_The third and fourth new acquaintances were not anywhere near as pleasing as the first two... though Sokka and I had not expected much upon hearing they were to be accompanying Princess Azula. She introduced us to her two closest friends. The first was Ty Lee Burlington, a bubbly young girl who, judging from the vacancy in her eyes, thought of little past looking pretty, giggling, and flirting blatantly with Sokka. Despite her shallow habits, it was difficult to dislike her as passionately as I did Azula or the second friend she had brought along. This was Mai Ringley, a dingy and monotonous creature who appeared every moment to be either mourning or on the verge of falling asleep. The greatest amount of passion she expressed for anything was still a tea spoon's amount when she had looked at the long scarlet hallway and proclaimed it nauseating._

_On a lighter note, during one of Jet's visits, he had brought along the fifth new face. It was a boy no older than he named Haru Gower. Haru was a shy, tender young man, who in comparison to Jet's outward charisma could have been no less innocent than a baby. Still, though his gentle nature was the brooding, intimidating future of an earthbending master: his swanlike grace and focus succeeded any bender of his element I had ever seen, and as he moved it seemed he had smoothed earth and rock into one liquefied substance. He taught me bolder, firmer techniques for waterbending while I taught him in exchange fluid, water-based motions to further establish his grace. I learned the four bending elements and their procedures were not singular; they were in a whole, all connected._

_And in fact, I had not entirely concocted that epiphany on my own. While meeting and learning about Aang, he, though being an airbender, had explained to Sokka and I the deep, cosmic, and universal principles of bending, and the divine connection we all shared, even the non-benders. All beings interacting with the elements every day, thus creating one constructed whole rather than four distinguished peoples. He seemed ecstatic to relate to us the lessons he underwent while in the religious school, all the things he had learned from Father Gyatso. I did not know it then, but I was soon to find out where he had developed an appetite for such insight._

_The last but the most wonderful fresh face, as far as I was concerned, was met in the mist-swept weeks of spring, while my fourteenth birthday was rapidly approaching. My Father had just gained a new friend in the business and so was given a generous invitation for dinner at the man's home. The man was Lawrence Balthasar, Duke of the neighboring province of Manzua, who was held in high regard by King Ozai and so was bound to encounter the liking of my father. I had known he and his wife Falva had one child, a daughter, but I did not know she would turn out to be my dearest lifelong friend._

_Her name was Toph, and she was confidence and assurity at it's fiercest. Upon meeting her, I could not believe or stand beside for one moment the conditions her parents had set to discipline her. For you see, she was blind. _

_Toph had been a gifted earthbender from birth, and her parents knew and thought she was acceptable. But in reality, she was prodigious. Ironically, she had never once let her _true_ skill and potential be discovered by anyone, and for what reason, I was about to discover. I had stumbled across her matchless talent accidentally, while finding my way by direction to the family's restrooms. Toph had excused herself earlier and so I was expecting to see her in the halls returning the way I was going. As I crossed by a certain window, the entire frame of it had been shaken, and I had felt it too, like a powerful shock had been struck through the earth. It was then that I realized, much to Toph's fear and offense, that she was the most phenomenal earthbender ever to walk the face of the earth._

_It had taken most of the evening for her to gather her humility, and eventually confide in me in private-- upon the roof of her house as the sun set, to be exact-- every detail of her secret life: her life as The Blind Bandit, the current undefeated champion of one of the local earthbending arenas. Since she was very young she had been battling full grown, fully instructed earthbender men, and still none of them had proved a challenge, her current record undefeated record was 42 victories to her name, a feat never seen before in the earthbending underground._

_I was stunned and excited that I could be the one to whom she could relate everything, all the talent and skill she had been keeping hidden inside her for many years. Apparently, besides having a natural gift exceeding others for earthbending, Toph had been primarily instructed by the badger moles, colossal beasts who lived in the distant rocky mountains. They had a strange and disarming love for music, and were the founders of earthbending itself. Toph's life, while under their training and while independent of it, had been solitary and secret._

_As my father had for me, the Duke and his wife had hired a private tutor for Toph who I knew only as Yohann, one of the greatest masters of the land... or so he thought. To that day, under the instruction of the parents, Yohann had been teaching Toph the harmless basics that barely involved moving rocks. I will be blunt and say Toph being visually impaired had cast her parents into paranoia and dreary over protectiveness. Never could Toph be free to expand and fully display her amazing abilities while she remained under the loving, blind choke hold her parents had upon her. _

_Still, it seemed Toph's alternate ego The Blind Bandit compensated enough for her to have a pleasant life, however complicated some aspects were. In that single night Toph and I bonded incredibly, and promised to write as often as we could. Since that day I seldom quit pestering my father for a second visit. I was the Secret Bearer, Toph's supporting shoulder, and it thrilled me._

_All this brings us to one day, the definitive fourteenth birthday party when it seemed all things came together. Among all these faces, there was one that had in actuality been with me longer than any other, and yet was missing. But no more._

XXX

Hardly ever in the past had a celebration of Katara's birthday involved many people; there may have been a reluctant Azula, or, for some time, a reluctant Zuko as well, beside Hakoda, Sokka, and possibly Jet, but never more. Now that she thought of it, there was hardly a birthday in her past that had been celebrated as fervently as this one.

But what was so special about this birthday? She hoped she could discover it. Perhaps some years later when looking back on her life she would realize what had made her fourteenth birthday different from any before it, more exciting, more acknowledged.

Usually on Hakoda's birthday, a grand party would be held and all his closest friends and colleagues would come to dance and make merry. Such was expected from someone like Hakoda. Sokka had once asked him when a party would be held in honor of his birthday, and it was then that he and Katara learned the parties were more formal than they thought, and once they reached a certain age, _then_ would Hakoda host them their own dance. Katara could only imagine the large, luscious dances with champagne and tarts and even a little dinner, where everyone was dressed in their best dress and wearing their best faces, talking and laughing and toasting as a crowd, held in commemoration of her alone.

Sokka now was fifteen and had not yet received his party, so Katara did not expect one. And, truthfully, she did not think one was necessary at her age, nor did she desire one _greatly_; it would certainly be an honor; breathtaking and exciting. _That_ she was sure of, but she was content with just the company of her friends, newest and oldest, true friends and false friends, those she knew well and those she did not know from the earth's beginning.

They were all seated in the dining room; the dinner and a masterful cake prepared by Kana had just been served and devoured heartily. It was a warm and boisterous room full of conversation and laughter, just as Katara wished it to be. The evening could not have gone better to that point, and she could not have asked for better guests. Even the presence of Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee seemed comical, as their gloom and antagonism was greatly overshadowed by the others and their fellowship. The three girls soon became a subject of snickering amongst the older boys, and otherwise completely ignored.

Those pleasant guests were Sokka, Jet, Haru, Aang, Suki, and Toph. Jet, being the eldest of all the young people present at seventeen years old, was the commander of most conversation and the core of most laughter. Katara could not say he was flaunting his wit and charm just because new faces were present: he was always such the social sovereign. Her infatuation with him _had_ faded slightly over the years, but she could not deny the speed at which her heart raced when she had seen him enter the home in a dashing black coat and silk beige shirt, a sapphire choker in honor of her family emblem, and a greatly ornamented belt about which was hung a new sword of superiority. He had swept an elegant bow and kissed her hand, and she had been helpless as to whether to swoon under the petty passions of her childhood or dismiss the gesture altogether with a chiding, teasing eye. "Why, Jet, you should know better."

Three hours after everyone's arrival brings us to the present scene. Katara sat at the head of the table, that usually being the Count's seat, wearing her most beautiful white gown. Her mother's azure necklace hung securely in her breast, her gloved hands folded in her lap, with her hair done up in a lovely brass headdress and strung about with pearls. She was a lovely, blooming young woman; a glowing creature over which Kana had shed tears and Haru, Aang, and Jet had gawked for ranging amounts of time. Jet was the first to come to his senses and did so in the most placid manner, engaging Sokka in conversation perhaps for distraction; following was Haru, who, once he caught her eye, blushed in embarrassment and stared at his plate; the last was Aang, who resembled a small child stealing into something that was not his business. He would ogle for a moment and then take a nibble of tart, ogle again, then nibble, and so on.

Suki sat attempting to make conversation with Azula and her small clan, who were seated at the polar opposite end of the table. She was intrigued by Azula's seemingly annoyed mood and was taunting it with a smirk, while Ty Lee sat by rather cluelessly and Mai frowned at nothing in particular.

Toph had been given the seat of honor beside Katara, and the two of them were now whispering excitedly about the Blind Bandit's next competition in the earthbending arena.

"Will you need any alibi?" Katara asked jokingly.

"I have far too many," was Toph's wicked reply and they laughed.

Hakoda soon began conducting the gift exchange, which went over splendidly. Katara was beaming and thanking as if nothing stood in her way. It was after that, that everyone dispersed from the dining room to mingle in a sitting room, holding glasses of apple cider that were meant to feign champagne.

Toph raised her glass.

"A toast to Katara," she said. "Happy birthday, Your Royal Highness Sugar Queen."

They toasted with laughter, and a few moments passed in many small conversations, until...

Hakoda had sauntered away with Kana, they departing to leave the children unsupervised for a while. This action could have been proven fatal, or constructive... it possibly changed as events unfolded.

Jet's smirk was glowing gold behind his cider. As he lowered it from his lips he was eyeing the exit that peered out to the Grand Hall, where the great winding staircases could be seen.

Gently and discreetly, without a hint of fear, he nudged Haru beneath the arm.

"Would you care for a tour?" he muttered. His eyes glinted with mischief.

Haru studied him for a moment and then chuckled, turning back to his cider.

"Unlikely, Jet."

"I know you would," Jet persisted.

"Only if you wish to stop at Immense Trouble Square on the way."

"That is really the entire point, don't you think?"

Jet set down his glass on a small convenience table, illustrating a last offer. Haru, giving in with a similar smile of misconduct, though slightly more harmless than Jet's, followed suit.

Slowly and unnoticed they made their way on the back wall around the sofa, in front of which Katara, Toph, Sokka, and Suki were standing in discussion. Mai and Ty Lee were stationed, slumped, in chairs at the far left end. Azula was nowhere to be found. Deviously, Jet spotted Aang, who was refilling his cider with careful hands at another small table.

Jet approached the boy and gently took the tall, heavy bottle from his grasp.

"Care to join us?" he murmured.

Aang blinked. "What are you doing?"

"Just a brief tour," Jet said, and simpered his simper of words. Aang glanced over his shoulder and then back at Jet. He understood.

"Are you sure it is safe?" he asked cynically.

"Can you imagine Count Hakoda with a whip?" Jet's brow angled upward.

"No," Aang said, "but I can imagine _your_ father with one."

"No need for anyone to know, then." Jet shrugged and he and Haru began to saunter towards the exit. "Well?"

Aang again glanced over his shoulder at the others, but his childish playfulness eventually overpowered his conscience.

He turned back with a smile and followed.

Content and somewhat proud, Jet turned--

Princess Azula stood instantaneously in their path, hands on her hips, eyes low and shrewd, like the calm, scalding embers of a fire.

"Can I help you?" Jet asked, not one bit swayed.

Nor was she. "Up to something?"

"Perhaps."

"Genius," she commended, and smiled invitingly. "Need an extra hand?"

"The more the merrier." Jet bowed and proceeded at the lead.

As a foursome, they set off silently and swiftly towards the stairs.

XXX

"You must be joking!"

Katara laughed out loud while Toph nodded smugly.

"I am completely serious," she said.

Katara only laughed more. "No! You really did?"

"I really did. Yohann got what was coming to him; he more than deserved getting his derriere stuck up in a tree. My only regret is the restraint on my part; it could have been such a more painful launch."

"But Toph! What did you parents say?"

"What do you think they said? They believed every word of my story, how I _tripped_ and _accidentally_ earthbent to catch myself, and by _mishap_ pitched Master Yohann-- at quite a hilarious speed, by the way-- into the far sycamore, and how I was _deeply_ sorry..."

"I have never heard such nonsense in all my life."

"It is beautiful, isn't it?"

"And your parents _believed_ it! Extraordinary."

"Tis a shame and a delight having such gullible folk in your daily premises. They are an excellent source of boredom relief."

Toph lifted her glass to her lips for another drink while Katara's laughter faded; she glanced over her shoulder in her mirth to inspect the party guests... and was surprised.

The numbers had decreased. She gave the room a quick sweeping and realized she, Toph, Mai, Ty Lee, Suki, and Sokka were all that were left. The first two were talking quietly in the corner, whilst the latter were engaged in slightly more coquettish dialogue.

Jet, Haru, Azula, and Aang, however, were gone.

"My, where is everybody?" Toph asked, a voice without a face interrupting Katara's thoughts. She looked back at her friend who was too scrutinizing the room over the rim of her glass.

"Excuse me, Toph," Katara said, and stood from the sofa. "Stay here, I will not be long."

Katara set her own drink on one of the miniature tables and then hitched up her skirts, moving quickly at a light jog into the Grand Hall. There she found them.

The four missing guests were ascending the stairs, two thirds of the way up, watching the gargoyles and carved angels with almost suspicious eyes.

Katara was amazed they had not seen or heard her, but no matter. They would be revealed soon enough. Quickly she made her way along the wall of the Hall, the place where lights lacked and it was slightly darker, in an attempt to get to her Father's downstairs study discreetly. The entirety of the Hall was deathly silent, and almost haunting with the falling night; darkness glowed through the windows and only a feeble candle's touch was there to light the way. Even when in large numbers lined along the wall, the light was still inadequate.

After several seconds she had approached the door of the kitchen.

Suddenly it opened.

Katara's heart leapt in alarm but she kept her figure calm. She turned slowly to acknowledge who she was sure was Kana and chastise her gently for startling her...

Instead she gasped, and found herself unable to speak.

XXX

Invisible eyes peered out through the walls at the four that slowly ambled down the hallway. Jet was in the lead, followed closely by Azula, who seemed concerned her being second in line would detract from her repute. Haru and Aang came after with less prominent exhibitions of conviction, however they could not help be enchanted by the porcelain gargoyles and cherubim, the marble floor stretched out in pattern down below, or the golden railings, or anything for that matter. Their wonderment pulled them on as a hand would grasping their collars.

It was perpetually dark; such darkness seemed like a conscious slowly slinking closer, growing larger and larger and more malevolent. Jet and Azula failed completely to see it, or at least appeared so.

"Look there," Jet said, his voice low and impish.

To the right of his outstretched finger was a more grand door than they had ever come across. The wood was jet black, save for the corners and ridges that seemed glossed in gold. The handle was the curved neck of a lion bust; the creature's eyes, though carved of gold and empty of irises, still appeared, in their ruminative frown, upbraiding.

"Where does that lead, do you suppose?" Haru asked.

"Oh, you did come after all?" Azula posed. She looked at him doubtfully. "It's not like you, Haru."

"There are a limited number of ways to find out," Jet said. He extended a hand and grasped the door knob silently. "Shall we?"

Aang opened his mouth to object, but a new voice broke the silence, one far more distant and unrecognizable yet it was a voice all the same. It was headed in their direction, murmuring...

"Come on," Jet snapped, and thrust the door open. Quickly his party filed in, and he followed last, closing the door with a careful hand.

He turned his back to it, and looked with rising satisfaction, at their discovery.

The room was a study. A great one, dusty and black but powerful, rich, full of knowledge. A single candle lit the room, an older flame left unextinguished on the cluttered desk. It's glow was surprisingly sufficient; it revealed the slender, gray spines of countless books lining the shelves, all clamped tightly side by side. The ones nearest the top seemed to glitter from neglect, wearing coats of dust, while others scattered about the tables or main desk had warm, open pages that could have been made of amber. Parchment and quills, sketched portraits, letters, envelopes, bills, ribbons, string... the desktop was submerged in them. This room was active... and it was not a study, but an office.

"The Count's office," Aang whispered. His voice upheld the definition of awe... and fear.

"How marvelous..." Azula snuck forward with grabby fingers outstretched.

"Should we be in here?" Haru murmured.

"Well, what do you think?"

"We should leave," Aang said. His voice trembled.

"Don't you want to have a glance around?" Jet asked, grinning. "It may be worth your while."

Azula had picked up a piece of parchment and was reading it over, entertaining herself.

"Why, I can hardly say I agree..."

She moved to the next letter, creasing it's words clear. "Dear Majesty... on behalf of... mmmhum..."

"Look at that," Jet said, drawing most attention. "A violin."

"Shall we pull the strings out?" Azula suggested.

"Maybe not." Jet chuckled and moved past towards the shelf. He began rifling through the books, turning pages briskly.

"All books of law... military..."

Haru and Aang remained stationed near the entrance, hands tightly folded away partly in insecurity and partly to resist touching all ornaments that were in reach. Silver telescopes and daggers, a trumpet made of fine brass, weights, old clocks; helplessly they set their eyes loose to feast on all the fascinating trinkets and details of the Count's office. It was the record of an entire lifetime. On the walls were paintings of family members or military leaders, certificates of achievement, long contracts and treaties of the old provinces displayed in glass cases. Haru saw a row of medals and a colossal globe of the earth sitting in a stand crafted of fine mahogany; Aang saw a musket, a pistol, and an old, half-incinerated cannon ball. All on shelves, all behind glass... all relics of Hakoda's past.

"By the gods!"

"What is it?" All heads turned. Jet was grinning wildly.

"The Count's sword," he purred.

Indeed, it was there. In the corner of the room, it sat in a glass shelf, elegant and glimmering in the window's faint, oncoming starlight. The blade was the length of Aang's entire armspan; it looked sharper and more deadly than the flashing garden of teeth in a shark's mouth. The handle was wrapped in gorgeous indigo leather, the snaps on the side to secure the grip made of fine silver. In it's entirety, one would have surely wept to see it wielded by it's master.

Jet took a step towards it, enraptured, while Azula gazed upon it greedily.

But it was a step too far for the others.

"I am leaving," Aang said firmly and with slight anger, and he turned roughly towards the door.

But suddenly there was an audible _click_.

The lock on the door turned as it seemed by it's own will... locking itself.

"Good thinking, locking it," Azula complimented.

"But... I did not," was Aang's reply. He sounded frightened.

A wind brushed in from the half open window. The solitary candle was snuffed out without resistance.

All was suddenly dark.

"Shut the window, will you?" Azula ordered. Jet scowled and shoved it closed.

The silence that had been present when the window was open was preferable now to the new silence that took hold.

Haru glanced about warily, his nerves beginning to flare.

In the far left corner of the study was a winding iron, black staircase. It's width only allowed a single-file descent. It led to a loft, or perhaps a second floor, about eleven feet upward.

Footsteps were heard from it's mouth.

A shadow moved, spilt across the first few steps for only a moment.

But it was long enough to identify the profile of a man.

"The Count!" Haru gasped, and made a leap for the door.

But suddenly, the handle of the door thrashed exceedingly, as if someone from the other side were trying to open it and could not. Haru jolted back in shock.

"Relax, that was not the Count," Jet droned, and returned to examining the sword.

"Did you see the door?" Haru breathed.

"Dear Count... we would be delighted if... mmm..." Azula read on.

Again, the doors rattled angrily. Haru and Aang scurried furthur back.

"Quiet!" Azula hissed, but her retort was cut short when she saw that Haru was not the one making the noise.

Jet had turned too. He watched in bewilderment.

When the doors settled, no one moved.

"Who is there?" Jet demanded.

"Count Hakoda?" Aang called feebly.

And just then the handles were shaken more violently. The entire frame of the door seemed doomed to be torn off it's hinges. The pounding, rumbling sound was equivalent to a nasty, rolling storm clad in thunder that gurgled unstopping over a twisting sea.

A flicker of shadow came and went, greater than the last, like a stretch of black cloth across the wall that was shortly whisked away. Jet spun on his heels.

"Who is that?"

Footsteps.

"Show yourself!" Azula barked.

"Shhh!" Haru cautioned.

The footsteps clanged above, running feet only quickening as the moments stretched on. The staircase could no longer be seen, thanks to the dousing of the single candle, so thickly was it clad in shadows.

"Get to the door," Jet growled to the others, and marched forward towards the flailing handle. They followed him with ranging speed. He went to seize it forcefully.

"Who is--"

"Do not!" Azula snarled, and swatted his hand away. "If the Count is so insistent on coming in, he can do it on his own!"

"I do not think it is the Count," Aang moaned.

"Whoever you may be, open the door and enter!" Jet ordered at the standing wood.

"But I have."

The voice was cold, crisp, and indescribably alien.

All four were started and whirled to face whatever it was that stood behind them.

From out of the darkness plunged into their stunned faces a piercing--blazing-- sapphire set of hand-sized wings. They glittered with wicked, exquisite beauty. With such swiftness had they come that it seemed they had exploded from the ether into their presence.

And from their middle shone two stinging, golden eyes.

Haru and Aang howled whilst Jet gasped and Azula was washed more pale than snow. What followed was churning mayhem of scrambling limbs, all tangled, all desperate. Jet cursed, Azula cursed; the door had failed them, all hope of escape now was the window. No sooner had the eyes folded back into the blackness before all four of it's victims had launched themselves across the room. Aang's hands thrust the window open with such force that he tumbled forth into the night air. With flying hands he caught himself on the grape vines clasping the mansion walls and began climbing downward with all speed he could muster. Azula shoved Haru and Jet from her path and followed. Soon they were all descending with whimpers and gibbering and curses and panting, gone from the phantom, gone from the office... perhaps forever.

When their echoing voices had disappeared across the lawn to almost nothing, the only sound that remained in the unlit office was the steady breathing of one lone chest.

The boy in the blue mask moved swiftly to the desk and struck a match, igniting the candle again. Light, small but significant, seeped back into the dark room.

The doors were unlocked and opened. He turned in casual expectation, smiling widely.Katara's face glowing with satisfaction appeared in the opening.

"Well done," she said.

And together they laughed.

XXX

"I do not understand," she said in a marvel. "When you were planning the trick, I... I have never heard you talk so much. You spoke so freely. Though do not get me wrong; it thrilled me speaking with you."

The boy shrugged, grinning, and swiftly changed the subject.

Night had fallen. Several hours had passed since their successful escapade. Jet, Haru, Aang, and Azula had returned to the party where they belonged with white faces and jittery hands. Katara could barely contain her amusement, and had had to excuse herself on several more occasions just to unleash spare laughter. The masked boy had not left, nor had she ordered him to do so. Upon meeting in the kitchen, Katara could no more send him off than she could pass up the glorious opportunity he had brought to life to avenge her home's privacy. How she had apologized, and how he had as well; how they had seemed like the very same person.

"There were things preventing me from speaking before," he said. "But now I can talk as I wish."

"Really." She did not pry much further on that vein; it seemed private enough. Instead she continued to marvel, speaking her heart almost involuntarily.

"It is just amazing. Hearing you speak, it has brought so much of you to life, given character to you where there was none."

"Honestly? I was under the impression it was a more intriguing experience knowing me when I did not speak."

"Oh, no, not necessarily. I prefer you this way."

His voice was like nothing she had ever heard: dry as sand, rough like her father's bearded chin... yet it was so very gentle, like a caress.

He leaned forward on the window sill, cupping his elbows in his hands and smiling playfully. "I assume now you will be asking me every question under the firmament."

"Near that, and probably more." They laughed in whispers, and remembered where they were. Her bed was ruffled and unoccupied; she was sitting on the window sill with him standing, reclining, below her. They spoke a little softer after that.

"Though..." she sighed, looking at her hands in her lap, "it was a fascinating experience communicating with you in other ways than words. Perhaps it had something to do with our youth."

"That could also be why we communicated in the first place," he said. "Little children do not see political or cultural boundaries, they only see each other as people."

"It is true... if we were to have met now, I most likely would have screamed and turned you in."

He grinned. "I would love to see that."

"Well, prepare for disappointment," she said, and cocked her head fondly. "I am so glad you came back. I cannot apologize enough for scaring you off that way."

"You did not scare me in the slightest. I was ashamed; I had known better than to take something that precious from you. Or to take anything, for that matter," he added, upon seeing her lips part in surprise. "Though I have never stolen anything in my life." He chuckled and, tucking his curled finger beneath her chin, prodded her mouth shut.

She smiled introvertedly as his hand receded, and then said,

"I do not mean this in any sort of condemning way; I am merely wondering. Why did you take the necklace?"

The boy's eyes fell in thought. He pursed his lips and then replied, "I do not fully know. I felt... a connection to it of sorts, like if I let it go from my fingers, something... I would not be complete ever again."

Her face lighted in amazement. "That is how I felt, almost, to your mother's necklace. I felt it was a part of me, as well as of you."

"Like it was yours? Like you had a right to it?"

"Y... yes. Yes, exactly."

They stared at eachother for a long moment, and then broke the connection simultaneously. She looked into the dim light of her room while he looked out across the dark landscape of the valley, each touching the boundary line of their two worlds-- a meeting point as simple as a window sill-- while staring elsewhere at their own realm.

"To be honest, I did not take your _banishment_ of me seriously," the boy remarked humorously. "I tried to come back countless times, probably every night. I would stand in the trees, in the brush, or, if I dared, directly below your window, but I could never bring myself to climb up to you, so great was my shame... my disappointment."

"Truly?" She laughed in relief. "I am delighted you did not take it seriously. I regretted _banishing_--" she chortled softly-- "you the instant I did. And now to hear you were below me all along, every night!"

He smiled apologetically. "One night I saw you come to your window and peer down at the garden; I almost dashed from my hiding place and called for you."

"I remember that night! I was lying in bed and I had thought I had heard you in the garden."

"Really?"

"And you were really there! I can hardly believe it."

They smiled in wonder at eachother for an expanding moment, and then--

"Katara?"

Both were struck with fear at the closeness of the voice... but it was coming from behind the closed door.

Katara exhaled long and heavily in relief.

"Yes, Kana?" she called shakily.

"Your Father wishes to speak with you, dear; downstairs in the dining room."

"I will be right there."

She and the boy looked at eachother again, ears perked and listening for when the maid's footsteps would fade beyond their range.

When they had, Katara smiled regretfully. "I would not have you go now.".

"I know," he said. "But I think it is best I did."

He lifted himself onto the window sill and now had to crouch farther than ever. He was a curled jaguar in the small pocket of two tree branches, yet his grace and agility did not waver in the slightest.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Sixteen."

"You are a year old than Sokka. I have always wondered that."

"Now you know."

"Thank you for the enjoyable birthday," she said, and he grinned in response. As he turned to descend, she leaned forward out the window in haste.

"Oh, wait, I forgot; what is your name?"

The boy seemed to hesitate, and then finally looked at her contentedly.

"Lee," he said.

It was perhaps the most common name of the kingdom, but she thought it perfect for him.

"Thank you, Lee, for coming."

"Thank you for your understanding."

"And yours. Will you come back tomorrow?"

"Possibly. If I can. We will see."

"I will be expecting you."

"Do not hope too harshly." His smile was sly, and it slowly folded into the misty darkness below. The clouds had gathered to block out the stars, hinting at the colossal rain storm due to arrive that very night. Already moisture had erupted in the air, stirring, taking its place on the breeze.

Katara left her room with high spirits.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N**: well that only took FOREVER. seriously i've had very few incidents in my life of such laziness and procrastination. My english teacher can tell you all about that. XDDDD. so yeah, review **please**!! and keep reading!!


	8. A Steeple for a Temple

8: A STEEPLE FOR A TEMPLE

**A/N**: yeah, i'm really lazy. or busy, either way. sorry about the MEGA wait ' that's just embarrassing. Enjoy!

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Katara's fourteenth birthday was the cue for her to flourish from girl to woman. It seemed the day after the occasion she stood taller, her back straighter, her waist more slender and her bosom higher. Her hair had grown considerably; it now cascaded down her back in thick ringlets, the color of chocolate found inside éclairs. Her eyes appeared to shrink and slant, but they glowed ever brighter than before, a stunning crystalline blue. Her eyelashes lengthened, her smile deepened.

Sokka had also grown. His face had narrowed, his jaw thickening. His structure was developing almost as rapidly as Katara's. His eyes were more keen, more prudent and observant. He no longer gazed in curiosity or wonder, instead he only nodded approval or raised an eyebrow in admiration. His hands were large, strong, rough from years of handling swords and bows, and it was now commonplace to find them folded at his lips, creating a thoughtful arch with his hands over which he stared into manhood.

Kana had their dress advanced in style and material as they grew. Katara now wore a tighter, more delicate satin and a corset, all of her gowns manufactured specifically to match her now radiant eyes. The color had ranged somewhat in her childhood but now they were as clear and decisive as a pale, winter morning sky. Her gowns came in all shades of cobalt and sapphire, lavender, indigo, violet, turquoise, and silver. In any shade, at any time of day, she was breathtaking.

But behind her brooding beauty and womanhood, Katara was not perfectly content as she had been in childhood.

The boy in the blue mask had not come the following night of her party, nor the night after that. She was surprised to find how strongly this news affected her daily mood; she moved throughout her activities in a disappointed daze, not yet a rain cloud but simply rimmed in gray, a foretelling of possible sorrow to come. Most conversation directed to her passed through her vaguely and it took her a moment to respond; only one remark thoroughly caught her attention.

"Fire damn me, but I do recall hearing screaming upstairs at Katara's party the other night," Sokka said casually over lunch. "Is that strange?"

"Do not curse, Sokka," Hakoda murmured.

"Very," Katara said with a twist in her lips. Her smile was sad. "You were probably just imagining things."

"I probably was," Sokka agreed, and turned to beckon Kana.

Katara set down her napkin with a sigh and rose from the table. Hakoda eyed her skeptically over a letter held before his wine glass.

"Katara, dear? You have barely touched your food."

"I am not feeling so hungry, Father. Please excuse me."

"Very well. Just know dinner is not until seven o' clock."

"Yes, Father. Thank you, Kana..."

She muttered the rest and left the room swiftly, arms folded tightly at her heart.

XXX

The afternoon outside was overcast but still bright, a crisp memory of winter long passed. Spring usually had such lapses, brief recollections of when the world was blanketed in snow, when one had to step through a silent wall of falling snowflakes wherever one went. Though all snow was gone, the grass was damp with due and the forest ahead still thick with mist. The tips of Katara's gown were soiled in mud and water but she hardly noticed let alone cared. The earth squeaked beneath her feet, her steps squeezing rain from the soil.

She made her way from the house into the field that for so long had been Sokka's domain, before he had abandoned any grueling form of archery practice and devoted his efforts to swordplay... for the time being, anyway. The forest was just a hundred or so feet before her; she need only run for a few moments and she would be enveloped in the tall, damp trees. Their heavenly scent filled the entire valley with tranquility... and untamable mystery.

But Katara did not advance fully into the forest; she remained out in the open of the field where only a few large trees strayed from the large and dense cluster of the wood. The choicest of these lone trees was majestically tall, reaching high and bold into the crisp air, a tower against the pale sky. It's width was not narrow enough for even twice the span of Hakoda's arms, and it's branches were outstretched firmly and with surpassing strength, thick and knotted and well for climbing.

It was below this great tree that was found a small pond, no deeper than the height of Katara's knees, and with no impressive perimeter either. It merely sat, untouched and humble, in the protection of the tree, so low in the tall grass and so deficient in size that one could easily miss it while walking past, or if they did see it, they would only see a glimmer of steely light. The water was aqua colored and clogged with flakes of moss and plant life; quite murky with mud, yet in its entirety it was a beautiful little thing, a place of refuge and peaceful meditation. Katara chose this site to attend to her independent waterbending studies.

Her tutor, a man named Pakku, was simple and steady, and so, under his commanding hand, she had developed a simple and steady style. Twisting one tendril of water for hours in different patterns around her hands was, according to Pakku, as efficient and effective training as pulling tidal waves from the ocean and making them dance across the horizon. Katara felt no impatience, only the reverberations of his wisdom. She trusted him completely, and learned to value his knowledge, his experience.

Katara extended her delicate, maturing hands over the pond once she had reached its side. Waterbending was ancient, respected and even hallowed, particularly in her family line. Among her ancestors were several of the greatest waterbenders of the age. Water was a graceful element, erratic but tamable in that sense, peaceful and content but always quivering with intelligence, mystery. There was always a new droplet to be discovered. With every technique there was a counter action, with every second the moon shone down on the oceans there was a new secret to be acquired.

Katara felt passionately about waterbending; she was not only greatly inspired by the fame of her genealogy and the reputation of her mentor but also fueled by her own questions, her own desire to spark a legacy independent of past glory. Pakku and Hakoda, though her father was not a bender, had always informed her thus: she could not borrow the light of her grandfathers and grandmothers before her. She could only create her own legend.

Katara had every intention to do so.

But it was a hefty goal, and even such a wonderful long-term dream starts out with daily, tedious practices such as the one she was about to indulge in. She sighed in some taste of disappointment and focused her energy in her wrists.

Waterbending was much like working a marionette. Air was the same in that sense, while in contrast, fire and earth depended on broader motions and less intricate movements. Katara often envisioned invisible strings holding the coil of water below her fingers. She drew one now from the pond, crystal clear of all moss or clod, seeing as she bent _only_ the water. She spun it gently in rotations beneath her palms that faced down towards the earth. She listened to water sloshing, as if it were bumping against rocks even as it hung there in midair. This move was often used to gain basic control of the water, to fully harness it's energy inside her own.

Once this had been achieved, Katara lifted her arms and moved them in slow, fluent motions. Pakku said many times that when bending water one must _become_ water; she was to move as water moved, be calm, composed, and flexible as it was. This she had no problem achieving. She was young and so had little strife to busy her mind. Pakku warned her of future years, of too much care that would thwart the needed tranquility. When under his instruction, they would usually begin lessons with brief periods of meditation. Katara guiltily chose to skip that step when practicing on her own.

When she had guided the tendril of water through a dance about her arms, she moved to the next level, a more complicated move that involved faster rotations and brisker patterns. Like many times before when attempting this, she failed. Bending the shattered water from her hair, shoulders, and the grass, she reformed it into a solid coil and tried again. Again, she failed.

Four more attempts followed with the same result. Katara growled and threw up her arms in discouragement, flinging the water tendril into the pond where it dissolved from it's form.

In frustration she sought refuge. She scolded herself for being upset so easily, knowing exactly what Pakku would say were he here. She turned towards the massive tree at her back, hoping to find good peace in its density.

Reaching up with both hands-- in previous years she had had to jump, for her height was inadequate, but now she had grown-- she clutched the first branch and in a very un-lady-like manner that would horrify Kana, swung up her feet and began to hoist herself into the tree. She delighted mischievously in smudging the front of her dress, as wet bits of bark and mud from rainfall gathered on her shoes and the lap of her skirt. She decided then that all women should wear dresses when climbing trees; it was much more impressive than a boy climbing easily in simple trousers.

Getting on the first large branch was always easy, it was just the second one that proved more difficult. After that, the real tree began, leaves and twigs and knots and all sorts of holes were there to guide her up towards the pinnacle.

She huffed a deep breath of determination and set her foot against the main trunk, preparing to kick herself up by propulsion to the next branch. In the past, she had had Sokka's aid, but now that Sokka had outgrown climbing trees and would not help her even if she asked, nor would she think to descend to asking him again anyway, she was on her own. Certainly it was better that way.

Katara pressed her lifted foot into the trunk with all her might and then leapt with the other, slipping off the tree in a feeble mockery of propulsion. Even the outreach of her newly long arms was inadequate. She caught her balance quickly as she landed back on the first branch.

Plagued as it seemed by failures, Katara frowned grimly and launched herself into another try. This time her hand barely brushed the branch's large middle, and she was doomed to fall back down--

A hand sprung forth from the dark density of the leaves, catching her wrist with surprising strength.

"Come on, you can do it," it scolded from an unseen mouth.

Katara recognized the voice instantly.

"Lee!" she exclaimed gleefully.

The blue mask appeared. From the thicket and tangle of leaves emerged the smirking face of her nighttime visitor, who she was now for the first time seeing in the light of day. She marveled that she had not noticed him... though it was not a wonder she hadn't, seeing as he still dressed in the same black tones and was sitting silently in the protective shade of the tree's interior.

His arm was straight and sustaining, independently holding her up by her wrist while her one foot against the trunk also offered some support.

"Am I extending too much help for your liking?" he asked.

She laughed. "I would not really call this chivalry, so you are safe." With Katara's age, she had learned to resent the reputation of women as only valid when under the guidance or ownership of men. Jet and her slowly dying infatuation with him was probably the only exception in her mind.

"I am relieved," Lee said dryly. "Now up."

And together they hoisted her to where she could clutch the second branch with both hands. From there he let go at her visual cue and let her clamber the rest of the way to his side. He was sitting a little above the second branch in a pocket of smaller branches, like a seat carved specifically by mother nature.

"Where have you been?" she demanded instantly, with a breathless beam.

"I am sorry I did not come the last two nights," he said, smiling apologetically. "There were complications. I was sitting here contemplating if I should visit you in the afternoon or wait until the night when I saw you coming towards the pond."

"So you decided to watch me make a fool of myself, is that it?"

"Virtually."

"You are despicable."

He only grinned wider.

"But, no..." he countered, "you are very fortunate to be such a talented bender."

"How do you know I am talented?" Before she was flattered she intended to clear up any misconceptions, or just subtle acts of _vocal_ chivalry.

"One needs only watch you and one knows. You have the motions of a master."

"Only because I am taught by one."

Lee shrugged. "Fine. Do not accept my compliment, it will not harm me."

"I fumble the simplest move in the entire art," Katara said, rolling her eyes. "It is cruel that my mind cannot grasp a single, stupid motion. All other things I do well at lose their relevance, their potency, when I spoil the one."

"The signs of perfectionism, which is the reflection of genius. In my opinion, anyway." But then he briskly changed the subject. "Come, climb this tree with me." His tone rephrased the offer to, _Come, let us see how far on you can continue before you need my help again._

Humored, she rose to her feet. "You helped me once, in my only spot of weakness. From here on out, I know every branch like I know my brother."

"In that case, it is a race."

Katara grinned wickedly. "In a daring mood, are we?"

Lee only mirrored her expression. "And no chivalry."

"I could not wait another moment. Go on, the guest gets a head start."

"How do you know I have not scaled this colossus before, hm?"

"If you had, you would certainly have accepted the head start when I offered it. Now go!"

And they were off.

The tree was a never ending cavern of branch after branch, randomly perturbing from the trunk to form more obstacles than conveniences; however on the outside, every leaf was aligned, not a single area of the tree's body ruffled or lumped. The outward appearance was an illusion: it looked welcoming and simple enough, but it was just the opposite on the inside.

Katara and Lee shot each other competitive smirks throughout the branches and around the bulk of the trunk, leaping for the best grip, and, as promised, no chivalry was involved. Neither had bluffed; they both knew the tree well. With Katara's confidence, and perhaps in an attempt to intimidate and further challenge him, she offered veins of conversation through heavy breaths.

And spontaneously, with no previous consideration or even full consciousness of her words, she asked the question she had always wondered.

"Why do you wear that mask, Lee?"

As it left her mouth she retreated slightly in embarrassment, and almost revoked her words with an apology, but his unexpected response halted her.

"Necessity," he said simply. They continued to climb.

"In what sense?" Katara prodded, unable to conceal her curiosity now.

Lee thought for a moment while grappling a high branch, and then smiled rather shyly. "I might not answer that the way you wish, and even then, I hesitate."

His tone was playful. She could not hold back a giggle. "What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"What? Lee..."

"A trifle!"

She laughed now.

"Lee! Tell me! Please?"

He looked at her for one last, long moment, and then surrendered.

"All right, you brought it on yourself. Why..."

He blushed and rebuffed. "Why do you wear a corset?"

Katara blinked and felt her own face heat. But in spite of that she chortled again.

"Because I have to."

"And so must I wear the mask. It may be uncomfortable, but under the circumstances, it is necessary."

"Well... I am sorry I asked."

This drained the color from their cheeks and only brought about more laughter, now from him as well.

Their climb grew faster and so with more fumbling; Katara cursed often, and, like climbing the tree in the first place, Lee observed it was very "un-lady-like". Katara only cursed again.

At last the light of the sky began breaking through each individual needle of each individual branch; it was a crystal white dawn bringing surface to their dark journey through the contours of the tree. Katara's smile was wild and victorious; she thrust herself upward with one last gasp and clutched the highest branch just moments before Lee did.

"Hah!" she cried breathlessly. "Victory!"

"By the skin of your nose," Lee panted. They smiled together in heaving breaths, a peaceful exchange of opponents, however tainted it was by mischievous, competitive eyes.

"Sour grapes," Katara said, and swung her feet up onto the utmost branch. "Come... we can... look at the mountains. They are... awfully beautiful."

"Oh, I know..." And he followed her after a moment's rest onto the pinnacle of the tree, the highest ledge that, after moving aside the prickly branches, overlooked the entire landscape from a godlike perspective. The mountains were at their diagonal left, capped with forests that were the color of gentle beige; pollen seized the trees. The sun was lowering, casting the same stroke of gold light that glided towards the east. Where the mountains faded in the distance to small bumps on the horizon, _from_ their distance rushed forth a stretching plain of scattered trees, rivers and brooks, blankets of wild flowers.

Together Katara and Lee barely fit on the highest branch, their bodies sliding together with the slightest immodesty to seize balance, but neither of them seemed to notice. They were transfixed, feasting for one universal moment on every wispy, rich color of the region.

"It is so still," Katara breathed. "It could be a painting deceiving us even now, passing for life."

On her shoulder blades she felt the rising and falling of his breast, and whether it was his breath or the breeze that caressed the back of her neck, she did not know. But she did know his hand, the familiar black leather glove she had felt as just a little child, when it intertwined it's fingers in hers. Somehow in that gesture their eyes and hearts combined, so that every breathtaking detail one saw, the other would see it also. Every exhilaration the one felt, so would the other feel. Katara synchronized her breathing to his, defying all proper boundaries and letting her weight fall upon him. They were one, a glimmering steeple atop the grand tree, the finest natural temple that could truly be sought in all the world.

"Thank you," Lee whispered, for so close were they, it was all that was necessary. "I did not know the end of the race would bring such a reward."

"Nor did I," she replied, and then smiled. "And so I thank you for inciting the race in the first place."

"My pleasure." He nudged her gently with his head, and then looked out at the mountains again. Two lofty peeks stood grander than the rest, carved like two faces approaching each other.

"Those two peeks look like they are embracing," he remarked.

"Which two?"

He lifted their woven hands and indicated the two. She studied them herself for a moment.

"They do... you are right. Sweet, isn't it?"

"Sweet," he chuckled. "To hear mountains are sweet."

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Intriguing? But it is sweet also, I suppose."

"Hm... I have had intriguing relationships that were not at all sweet."

"Really." He prodded her again playfully. "Do tell."

She smiled contentedly. "I once knew a boy. He was pale and sallow and had never anything to say. The definition of sullen as man knows it. He was nearly everything I dislike all wrapped into one, yet for some reason I was endeared to him. I suppose his demeanor in entirety was amusing."

"I find that easy to believe. What was his name?"

"Zuko." She had not spoken the name in years; it felt too new, too strong, on her tongue, full of bitter and sweet memories.

"And you say he was sallow," Lee mused. "Was he from a rich family?"

"That would be safe to say," Katara said, and chuckled to herself.

"Richer than yours, I assume?"

"Much."

"In my experience, the richest folk are much like the money they crave; cold and hard and virtually one-sided; the second side is only the same as the first."

"Not always true," Katara objected, coy. "Sometimes a different pattern is printed on the backside of a coin."

They laughter together, while around them the wind was beginning to gather.

"And excuse me," Katara said, "but I am rich, and my family is not at all one-sided. Are we?"

Lee shook his head. "Not at all. I said the _richest_ folk. If I recall, you made it clear you are not the richest."

Katara nestled, content, closer against him, as the wind began to chill her. And then her smile faded; pensive, she looked up into his face.

"You seem different," she said. He glanced at her.

"How so?"

"You... I cannot say. You just are different than times before. You seem... thrilled."

He smiled kindly, and touched his forehead to hers. The cool porcelain of his mask seemed to wash heat from her flesh. "Only thrilled to have attained another friend in the world."

"We are indeed friends, then?"

"Most definitely."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N**: teensy chapter. probably not worth the horrendous wait. ah well! i'm finally getting a life and entering the real world! lol XD reviews are cookies!!


	9. The Masquerade

9: The Masquerade

**A/N**: What?? You mean, Jeccelo is NOT DEAD?? Oo ...Yes, i am indeed alive. I've almost forgotten how to submit. Isn't that sad? I've been suffering from interest swings, so... bleh. Actually I've taken a break from writing and focused really on art, so it's paintings I've been submitting lately instead of chapters. So anyway, a bajillion-kabillion-shzamillion apologies, and hopefulness that my lack of interest hasn't been too contagious. .

Oh, and AVATAR FINALE THIS WEEKEND! Boo yah. Despite popular opinion I shall remain loyal to Zutara; very much anticipating their ninja vengeance mission!!

--

_A year passed. Lee was my most trusted friend, besides Toph of course; through each mundane week when Thursday loomed as Azula Day, Lee's sure coming was new light in the horizon. On my fifteenth birthday in the summer, he took me into the fields to unfold to me every secret of every plant, rock, creature..._

_He plucked the large, peach-colored fruit from the tree and fingered it. It was called a Shorcha._

_"Oh don't eat that!" I exclaimed._

_"Why not?" He was surprisingly calm._

_"They're quite poisonous; it won't kill you, but it will make you terribly sick."_

_He only smiled, eyes glittering behind his mask, and reached into his boot to withdraw a small knife. I fidgeted slightly._

_"You are armed?"_

_"A necessity," he said simply, not looking at me but focusing on the Shorcha. It was much like an egg, except it was easily three times bigger, it took more than a few light cracks to open it's shell, and the inside did not need to be cooked to taste pleasant. With the knife he carved a small hole in the narrow end, making sure to keep it facing upward so as no juice would leak out onto his hands. _

_"Follow me," he said. "We must find a Tongras tree."_

_We hiked for perhaps half a mile into the density of the wood; I expected to run into the foothills of the mountains but we never got that far before Lee found what he was looking for. I had seen Tongras trees before: they were short much like evergreens, but the branches and trunk were slim and rather bare. The leaves were as large as the Shorcha fruit, about the length of my father's hand, and they began the color green but faded to pink at the ends. There was nothing significant about the tree; it had never been selected as mystical or beautiful, just part of the natural kingdom._

_"Watch closely," Lee said, and plucked one of the leaves from it's place. They were whisper thin and soft, like tissue._

_"You know these leaves are well for absorbing water," he said._

_"Yes."_

_"Well, that is not the only thing they absorb well."_

_And carefully he placed the leaf on the hole he had carved in the tip of the Shorcha. Folding it around the hole like a glove around a hand, he tipped the fruit upside down and let the juice drain. I watched a pale orange fluid sink easily through the leaf and into the soil at Lee's feet. We waited perhaps five minutes, watching the watery substance drain through the leaf's surface, until Lee righted the fruit again and removed the leaf._

_"Very good," he said, and again took out his knife. With it, he split the Shorcha open, revealing the soft pulp inside, the part that caused such drastic illness._

_"Here," he said, and carved a piece out with his knife. "Eat it, it's delicious."_

_"But... the poison--"_

_"I drained it. The leaf filtered it out."_

_I took the piece from his knife and placed it carefully in my mouth. Never had I tasted anything more exquisite._

_"Gods... it's positively sinful."_

_"Happy birthday: I give you a way to cheat death."_

_We laughed._

XXX

Sokka's sixteenth birthday arrived in a crisp and colorful November. At that certain age came his privilege to hold a grander party than ever before, as many guests as his heart desired, as much dancing and feasting as he could stand. Katara made sure she was first to be invited; if she could not participate in such splendor she would throw herself from the highest point reachable, and since Sokka did not want the death of a family member on his conscience, he slipped the very first invitation sealed with fine wax under the door of her bedroom, and waited until he heard her squeal of delight before returning to his own bed.

All arrangements were made in a span of two weeks; Sokka's closest friends suggested to him _their_ closer friends, and those friends suggested friends from distant cities, who suggested those from distant kingdoms. And so it was to be a culture festival, the majority of the attendants not having much idea as to who the man they were honoring even was.

Since Sokka was free to do whatever he chose-- following basic guide lines of propriety and soberness laid down by Hakoda, of course-- his creativity was sparked beyond what his family may have expected. He proclaimed the party a masquerade, and included in the invitations a request that all attendants wear the most exquisite disguises, masks, and costumes they could produce. Kana was soon busy making the costumes Katara and Sokka had spent hours designing together on countless sheets of parchment. Every stitch was outlined in ink, and it was as if _tedious_ was their new life mission, but Kana could not deny their bright, pleading eyes when they showed the designs to her and asked her to make their dreams a reality.

To distribute and balance the effort Kana would need to put into the project, Sokka and Katara volunteered to work in the kitchen on several nights and do their own laundry while she focused the most on their costumes. Hakoda found the whole thing entertaining, and would often slip from his desk to sneak a peek at Sokka in vile frustration scrubbing dirt and clod from his many coats.

After many hours of new and unusual servitude, the costumes were finished. Katara's dress-- when worn with a petticoat-- was a majestic skirt of bronze, carmel, and gold fabric with black lace at the edges. Her formfitting coat was of similar color scheme, and she wore silver-studded black gloves. Her mask was too a rich brown, rimmed with golden streamers and glistening pearls.

Sokka's costume dominantly expressed the color gray. He was mimicking a wolf, his favorite animal since childhood. His mask was the face and nose of a wolf, his eyes peering through soft, false fur. (He had requested no real fur be used, disgusted at the idea of killing one of the magnificent creatures for merely a costume.) His coat was long and silver like a tail, his gloves white with sewn-on claws made of sapphire. The chest of his shirt was streaked with black, a sign of Alpha dominance.

Awakening many childhood behaviors and memories, Sokka and Katara modeled their costumes for the entire household, drawing training swords from their new belts, staging swashbuckling duels and dramatic dialogue, or pretending to be two invincible bounty hunters prowling a dark city. When their games ended and as Sokka began consulting Kana about the party menu, Katara leaned over the railing and peered down at the main floor. She imagined the party in it's splendor, hours after dinner when all were well fed and dancing jubilantly in their exotic disguises. It would be a sight to behold. Katara could hardly contain her excitement.

XXX

"By the gods, it is Azulon back from the dead!"

Jet removed the fiery golden mask from his eyes. "You know you fear me as such, Sokka."

"That's reverence to the old king for you," Haru chuckled.

"He is a corpse." Jet reached to take a glass of champagne --fake, Hakoda's orders-- from a passing tray. "I fail to think he cares all that much."

"Oi, is the princess here, Sokka?"

"What, did you miss the strike of lightning that hit just as a royal carriage pulled up to the gate?"

"No, I saw that." The boys laughed.

"Just wander about until you feel a sudden chill come over your flesh," Jet said.

"You need to learn to be aware of your surroundings, Haru," Sokka chortled.

"Well, I beg your pardon, but I do not believe you, Sokka, have personally greeted Azula and thanked her for coming," Haru said.

"Ooooooooooo," was the surrounding response.

"Shut your traps." Sokka smirked and took another drink. "She does not need to be greeted, everyone knows very well that she is here."

"But you are the host," Jet countered. "You invited her, it is only protocol!"

"I invited her because I would like my knuckles to remain un-split, thank you."

"Aw, such love from a father!" Jet jeered.

"But you must approach her now," Haru reminded.

"What if you have insulted her?" Aang said.

"Oooooooo!"

"I told you to to shut your traps! Drunk blokes, all of you." Sokka was losing now.

"I recall your father forbade alcohol from these drinks."

"Go on!" Jet shoved him forward at the shoulder. "Tell her she looks like a fetching vampire in her dress."

Sokka stumbled in the midst of laughter. He turned a wicked smirk at Jet.

"You," he challenged. "Do it."

"You, go on! No weaseling out of this one."

"Go, Sokka, be a man!"

"A gentleman!"

"Tell her she is a beautiful banshee!"

_"Oh see how she sucks the blood from her partner's cheek?" _Jet recited dramatically, twisting romantic Shakespeare. The boys howled with laughter.

"You are all going to be beheaded," Sokka prophesied, but he was laughing as well. "All right, I will go, as a gentlemanly host."

_"Adieu, Azula, parting is such sweet relief!"_

"Someone take his drink away." And with that Sokka turned into the crowd to seek the princess, laughter at his back.

XXX

Katara leaned against the window sill and tried to fasten her spirits to the clouds that were building in the night sky.

They were storm clouds; in the past they had never ceased to cheer her up, no matter how strange a concept that was. But tonight their magic was failing. She sighed, her chin in her glove, slouching very ruggedly against the glass pane.

Toph had fallen ill the night before, and so was not able to come. Suki was far too opposite her personality to spend an enjoyable night with, and all the other girls present were from neighboring kingdoms, and far too focused on the young men. Katara was not poor at making new friends, especially at parties such as this where that seemed to be the major purpose. But for some reason the density of the dance floor and the already intense level of frivolity had shoved her heart closed; she was hopelessly intimidated. The wonderful night she had been anticipating for weeks was now crumbling before her eyes.

She picked hopelessly at the stitches in her skirt, hating herself for letting this to happen. She had excluded herself so successfully that now she could never go back out there. She was upstairs, a whole floor above everyone else. The clouds that had once given her happiness only reminded her of disappointment now. She cracked the window, hoping the scent of the coming rain might succor her somewhat, but it was not yet strong enough.

Below the music was taunting and comforting her at the same time. She was a very good dancer, better than fair. So she should be confident down there, alone for the most part, seeking new relationships. But she was inevitably one of the youngest attendants; a child in the eyes of those young adults who in reality were not that much older. But that was the way it was. If she were in the midst of that music now she would be overlooked, not matter how beautifully Kana had dressed her up.

A rebellious lock of hair slipped loose of it's bindings and slid down her cheek, bouncing to a stop and swinging ever so lightly against her neck. One gloved finger lifted and tinkered with it. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but it was gentle; only she could hear it, as she was huddled against the glass.

And then, suddenly, a voice.

"Surely if the lady was down at the party where she belonged, she would not be sitting alone."

Katara's heart jumped but her body was still, for the voice was alarming and calming all at once. Soon the alarm fell away and all that was left was jubilance.

"Lee!" She threw herself into his chest. He laughed and returned the embrace. She had not seen him come, did not know from where, or even how he was here to begin with, but all that mattered in that moment was that she had been redeemed from her loneliness. She laughed in his arms and then pulled away to look into his face.

"I cannot believe you are here!"

He wore his usual mask but around his head was tied a black bandana concealing his hair. As she stepped back she realized he was not dressed in his usual attire: he was in formal costume.

His vest was scarlet velvet, the buttons black jewels that glittered in the window's pale moonlight. His shirt was black and loose, leaving open his throat around which was a necklace... his mother's necklace. She touched it as it rested there on his breast, and soon his own fingers lifted to grasp hers. He wore dark maroon gloves that clashed with his pale wrist, as much of it as his sleeve slipped up to reveal. It was a beautiful combination as always, the dark tones he wore against the porcelain appearance of his flesh.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, even though they were far from any eavesdropping ears. "How did you know to come? Why--"

"I heard the music, and I listened," he whispered in return. His eyes told centuries of just listening and hearing. "I saw you drift to this window, retreating like a shy fawn..." he chuckled and touched her chin, "...even in the state of wondrous beauty that you are!"

"No..." she smiled and shook her head, eyes wandering. "I was much too flamboyant with this costume. I look like a circus tramp."

"Not true!" he turned her eyes to his. "Honestly, that cannot be why you are hiding, is it?"

"Whoever said I was hiding? You haven't even answered my questions, Lee."

"All right. I came because I wanted to see you. And... I just randomly happened to be dressed for the occasion."

She laughed and gave him a playful nudge. "You knew it was a masquerade. That is why you came."

"Now I can know what it is like to blend in."

"But why..." she longed to ask him again the ultimate question-- why he regularly wore his mask-- but restrained herself. "All right."

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked carefully.

"No!" She clutched his sleeves in clawed fingers. "Don't you dare! You have no idea the pit of disappointment you have just lifted me from."

He smiled. "I have some idea. Let's go downstairs."

"No--"

Even as he began to lead her to the stairs, her feet became stone where they stood. He watched her uncertainty with mischievous eyes.

"Why not, Katara?"

"I... Lee, it is much easier to just stay up here and make conversation, is it not? We do that all the time, it won't be hard now..."

"I do not think that dress was made for talking in." He smiled shyly, endearingly. "I want to see you dancing."

"Lee, really, I do not--"

"Come, Katara. Dance with me." He moved closer to the top of the stairs, slowly breaking her stance.

"Lee! I am perfectly content here."

"Actually, you are not," he laughed. "You just told me you were horribly disappointed because you had no resorts on the floor."

"Not true! I said nothing about not having anyone to dance or make merry with."

"But that was what you meant. We both know it."

"Well--"

"Admit it."

"Oh, gods."

"It is your home anyway, Katara, you should be queen down there."

"Queen of what? All that chaos? No thank you."

He was smiling so brilliantly she had to look away, should her resolve be broken.

"I am not going down there, Lee."

"Please?" He was on the top step now, moving down to the second, and she was inevitably following, even if at a snail-like rate with much resistance. She dared a glance at him and his eyes were so large even behind a mask that her gaze had to dive away.

"Lee, really, let go of my hands."

"I would if you honestly wanted me to."

"Lee!"

"Katara... do you enjoy my name that much?"

"Oh, by the gods..."

"I cannot deny I enjoy yours. Katara..."

She could not help laughing as he mocked a breathy, romantic voice. She kicked at his shins from under her skirts but to little avail. He only joined her laughter, moving down two more steps. She was now leaning over at the waist to keep a hold of his hands.

"Stop, you barbarian." And suddenly she tripped.

The first step came sooner for her than either of them had anticipated; she fell with a gasp of shock over the first three steps. Lee's arms opened instinctively like a wall, and he caught her in his breast.

Katara had embraced Lee before, and he her, but suddenly it was as if they had never touched another human being in all their lifetimes. She froze in his surprising security.

The sleeves of his shirt were so soft... She could not deny the warmth in the pocket of his shoulder. It hit her as a small miracle, like an entire ocean and all it's wonder contained inside a marble, there in her palm for her to examine and marvel over. She looked up to meet his eyes and instead found herself looking up at his lips. They trembled; she traced every crease in their surface, studied each corner of his mouth, reading his expression. Past his cheek she finally found _his_ eyes, but they were looking into her hair, following the curve of her brow. She felt his fingers flex, five on her arm and five on her waist. His hand slowly glided to the small of her back for better support. He may have been carrying an infant, what with the tenderness that he held her there suspended from harm.

At long last their gazes met, and the stretched seconds of time were shattered. A crooked smile spread his lips and he chuckled.

"My fault," he said, and instantly righted her. She felt her body leave the warmth of his arms; it was as if a cold draft had snuck in through the open window. Suddenly she was on her own feet, supported by her own strength. It was painfully regular.

But the playfulness in his eyes pacified her; she laughed as well, feeling heat creep into her cheeks.

"My goodness, I apologize. My skirt is rather long, and these heels..."

"Please do not blame yourself," Lee chortled. "It was I who was recklessly pulling you down like an attempt of murder."

They laughed again together, and for a moment the sound rivaled the beauty of the music below.

"Well... kill me if you like," Katara said, "but I believe there is one thing I am obliged to do first."

"That being?"

"Did you have something to ask of me, my good fellow?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.

"May I have this dance, my lovely lady?" He bowed gracefully and she curtsied in response.

"You are at liberty to take it right out from under me."

And she took his hand and lunged at full speed down the stairs, pulling him along.

"And _who_ had that liberty?" he laughed.

XXX

Above the party, in the domed ceiling, the echo of rain battering the manor's shell was like the constant hissing of the sea. The storm had finally rolled over the mountains and was now cleansing the valley floor. Those dancing would watch the flash of lightning from outside the window illuminate their partner's face for a brief moment; it was then accompanied by the thunder's bulky humming. Some thought the presence of the storm ominous; a bad omen. Katara, Lee's hand clasped in her own, thought it the picture of beauty.

Slowly they turned together, hidden in the midst of the throng where the music was fading; all sound was fading. Soon it was only silence between them; nothing was in the universe but the thickening depths of their eyes, both pairs peering out from masks. They studied eachother with the intensity of one trying to remember a dream; they had just awakened to the morning light and were desperately searching for the details of setting, events, characters, trying to retain that magic that had only moments ago been close enough to taste.

Katara blinked and cleared her throat, suddenly feeling the pressure of the silence.

"Can you recall those times when you woke up in the morning," she said, "and in an instant forgot what you had been dreaming?"

"Yes," he said regrettably. "Cruel."

"Sometimes. But not all the time. Sometimes the dream was nothing very special, and you do not even think of it as you get out of bed."

"But others..."

"Yes, others... the blissful ones that sum up all the desires of your heart in a single image."

"Aye." He chuckled gently. "Once before I awoke while in the act of closing my fingers around a most wanted object; my eyes opened just as I was beginning to feel it on my skin."

"Terrible."

"Very. My fingers moved with such excruciating slowness, like they were maneuvering through syrup... Already I knew I would never seize it before I awoke, and even if I did, it would not carry on into reality."

She watched his lips make the slightest adjustment to break his smile and form a pensive frown.

"What were you trying to grasp?" she asked.

He glanced at her, then smiled and looked away. "I cannot even remember."

They laughed gently into the space between their faces. Katara's senses detected the water vapor in his breath, the slightly dampness in his hair. She wished suddenly to be enveloped in such detail; she wished to trace every molecule in his body and feel every drop of water she could reach, because in contrast to the rain outside that was so cold, he was unspeakably warm. The fabric of her costume felt stony and brittle, beauty on the outside but emptiness within. With him, in his arms, his eyes, his smile, there was life through and through.

"Interesting..." she murmured to herself; her eyes were following the crease of his collar.

"What is?" he asked, in a similarly soft tone.

Her trance was broken. "Oh... forgive me." A sheepish glance flitted across her eyes. "I... well, it is only in my nature as a waterbender, but I was comparing certain... feelings, I suppose they are... to the water in your body."

"You can feel it?"

"Like the spray of the sea."

They stared at eachother for a long moment, and then her gaze scurried away. He laughed.

"I can only pray it is a comfortable spray."

"No need to worry in that regard," she admitted.

He watched her blush, and hide her face below his chin.

Suddenly, CRASH.

The sound of brass dishes toppling onto the marble floor paraded throughout the hall. Katara and Lee were jerked apart in alarm. A shriek followed that, uncharacteristically high for the throat it escaped from.

"Sokka?" Katara marveled.

Strangely, the shriek and crash were then accompanied with frenzied laughter. Katara spotted Jet, Haru, and Aang, all huddled together and bent over in hysteria.

All heads turned to the refreshment table.

Princess Azula in a magnificent black dress but with no mask was bristled in a defensive stance; her fingers were flexed and a tendril of smoke was twisting up from the table cloth beside her. But the true shock was the great brass platter on the floor: a hole had been ripped in it's center, by a force more powerful that blades or hands. The metal strips curling up from the hole's edges were charred black and melting before everyone's eyes.

Sokka was crouched half beneath the table, arms over his head, peering out in fear from the crook of his elbow.

"Try that again and the hole will be in your forehead instead of a plate!" Azula hissed, and hitching up her skirts marched into the crowd; the guests lunged out of her path as quickly as they could.

Katara felt Lee's hand tense and withdraw from hers, but she didn't look at him. Instead she pushed through the multitude and ran to Sokka's side. The smell of electricity and smoldering metal stung her nose and senses.

"Sokka, what on earth happened?"

"He _kissed_ her!" Jet howled, tears in his eyes from laughter. "He kissed her, the idiot, he actually did it!"

Murmurs exploded from the crowd; some yelled, most laughed, but everyone was reacting at once. The fearful silence turned to amused liveliness.

Jet stumbled forward and grabbed Sokka off the floor, rubbing his knuckles into his hair.

"Brilliant job, you suicidal dolt, you have just made my week!"

"We are unworthy, we are unworthy!" Haru and Aang scurried into view making bowing motions with their arms. Sokka remained traumatized in Jet's grasp.

Many young boys from the crowd whistled and jeered, joining Jet's remarks.

"Atta boy, Sokka!"

"She almost killed you!" Aang marveled. "It was fantastic!"

"Sokka!" Katara grabbed his collar and yanked him from Jet's hold. "_Are you insane?"_

He shoved her away, his face beginning to take color again.

"What came over you?" she demanded. "Were you even _thinking_?"

"Of course I was not!" Sokka bellowed, and everyone went quiet, watching him anxiously. A pause, then...

He burst into laughter. "But as if she would ever risk blowing my brains out!"

The hysteria was only rekindled, and to a higher degree. Katara rolled her eyes and stomped back into the press.

"Wait, Katara, wait!" Jet seized her arm and pulled her back, face wild with glee. "Did you see it?"

"No," she snapped, "and I am glad I did not!"

"Oh, you must hear it!" He pulled her so she couldn't escape. "Come on, hear what happened! Aang, Haru, show Katara what happened! Oh, brilliant..."

Aang perked up his chin and scowled in impersonation of Azula. Haru wandered timidly to his shoulder and tapped it.

"_Oh, hello, Sokka_," Aang said snootily in a high voice and turned his nose away.

"Princess Azula," Haru said uncertainly, "I want to thank you for coming to my party. You look rather fetching."

"_Why thank you, Sokka._" Aang only thrust his nose higher in the air.

"Can I tempt you with a drink? Might I suggest a Bubbling Blood?" Haru said, gesturing to the empty glasses on the refreshment table.

Aang (Azula) turned his head in irritated confusion. "Excuse me, a Bubbling Blood?"

"Yes, well, I assumed it would be in your taste, what with you... well, being what you are."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Uhm... well, I understand you do not usually talk about your vampire nature--"

"_Vampire_? Are you calling me a _vampire_?"

"Oh, I know it is a hard reality to accept, I mean, I can only imagine--"

"Sokka, have you entirely forgotten _who I am_?"

"Well, not exactly, you are Princess Azula."

"And I dare say you should remember it. Now get out of my sight and you may escape the consequences of your stupidity."

"Princess, is your appetite growing? I certainly do not want to upset you if it is--"

"Have you heard _nothing_ that I have said, you measly--"

"Measly? Oh, no, Princess, I think you will find me..." Haru scooted daringly into Aang's personal space, "quite rich."

"Get your filthy imaginations away from me, pig," Aang spat.

"I am sorry, did I offend you? Though I hardly agree with your aggressive tone, Your Highness."

"Oh, bite my tongue for me then, you disgraceful--"

"As you command, Your Highness." And Haru jumped forward.

Aang snapped out of charade, glaring warningly at him. "If you really kiss me--!"

"I will not!" Haru slapped Aang in upside the head, then cleared his throat and resumed character. Leaning forward, he set his lips a good two inches from Aang's and vocalized the rest.

"Mmmmm-tuah!"

"Aaaaaaaauuuggh!" Aang shrieked and leapt away, then pretending to bend lightning from thin air. Haru then scrambled to the table and lifted the first plate he could find, holding it like a shield before him--

"Kh-zzzzzzzzzzzzz!" Aang shot the invisible lightning from his fingertips into the plate. Haru crumbled to the floor with a squeal.

"I did not scream that high," Sokka chided and kicked at his friend lightly. Jet clapped as Aang and Haru bowed.

"You are all morons," Katara said. "Although it was terribly funny and I do say she deserved it, hopeless morons you remain."

"Thank you, Katara," Jet said, and let her back into the crowd with a laugh.

"And what is all the commotion over here?"

Everyone froze where they stood. Katara turned mid-stride.

Mr. Freer glided into the clearing, one hand drawing his cloak across his chest, and no mask to conceal his dark eyes. He looked smashing in the glow of the hall, an older version of Jet. He sneered down expectantly at Sokka and the others, raising his brow.

"Well?"

"Mr. Freer--" Sokka fumbled to straighten his posture. "I-- thank you for coming, sir."

"Hello, Father," Jet said quietly, looking at the floor.

Mr. Freer ignored their greetings. "I cannot imagine that you blessed children would be responsible for the sudden foul mood of the princess."

He glanced at the smoldering platter that had not yet been picked up from the ground and lifted an eyebrow.

"Or, bless me, the condition of that lovely brass work."

"N--" Aang began.

"Unfortunately, yes, sir," Sokka said quickly. All eyes turned to him.

"Oh?" Mr. Freer asked. His voice was low, soft... deadly.

"Yes." Sokka stepped forward. "You see... my father and I have discussed-- well-- the giving of an award of sorts. A recognition of service to the kingdom, one of the highest honors."

"Really. I have heard no such news."

"Yes, sir, and forgive us, it was intended as a secret for most. You see, Princess Azula has had her heart set on the award for many months now, she being one of the few who knew about it. We had virtually promised it to her already, but in the end, I am afraid she came up short. We just told her now that it would be given to someone else."

"Intriguing. Will they be honored tonight?"

"As a matter of fact sir, they will. So I hope you understand the princess' mood, and excuse it. It was inevitable."

"So it was." He smirked. "A pity she would act so childishly."

"Well, competition is not something she is used to, with all her exceeding skills."

"I suppose not." He bowed at the head. "Well, I admire your creativity, and your father's. I look forward to the ceremony."

"Thank you, sir. Please do stay to witness it."

And with one last cold smile, Mr. Freer strode off into the throng, cloak sweeping the marble behind his ankles.

Sokka's breath let out. Jet, Katara, and the others stared at him.

"Wonderful, Sokka," Katara snarled. "Now you have conjured an entire portion of the evening that does not even exist!"

"Though that was some _beautiful_ improvising," Jet said. "Almost topped your performance with Azula."

"Not helpful, Jet!"

"There's no problem, Katara," Sokka said. "We will give the award."

"To _who_? Who could compete with Azula?"

"Mr. Freer, of course!" Sokka folded his arms smugly. "He already knows he is getting it, even though he was not getting it until I lied that he was. Only now it is no longer a lie, seeing that he is indeed getting it."

"Genius." Aang looked up at him in awe.

"Fine." Katara shook her head. "Give your award. But you better pray Azula does not relate your lovely vampire interaction to Father!"

"She would not in a million years," Jet said. "She is embarrassed enough as it is; going and whining about it to an adult would only cap her loss of dignity."

"You idiots make me fear for my life sometimes." Katara turned away with a scowl. "No matter how hilarious the whole thing is."

"How about a drink to Sokka?" Jet's offer and the enthusiastic response faded as Katara moved deeper into the crowd, searching for Lee.

XXX

She did not find him.

She had wandered the floor for perhaps ten minutes now, pushing her way through the dresses and coats and arms and necks and laughter, but there was no sign of her Lee.

Twice she had seen someone who looked just like him and had touched them in anticipation, only to have them turn on her a foreign face she had never seen before. She let herself be swallowed up in the crowd to douse her embarrassment, grateful for it's density and for her mask.

Where could he be?

Would he really have left, just left, when they had not even began dancing that long? Did he take advantage of the first distraction to slip off into the night through some unseen passageway?

Perhaps he had never wanted to be here. Perhaps he had been frightened away by so many people. She could not entirely blame him.

Again her disappointment and hopelessness was beginning to surround her. Katara sighed deep in her chest and again circled the dance floor, searching. There was too much commotion, too much laughter and movement, to know where she had looked and where she hadn't. It was always changing, and she knew he was not a part of it.

XXX

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends and guests."

Sokka's voice moved over the frivolity with surprising effectiveness; the music settled to silence, all ceased conversation and turned to heed him as he stood nine steps up the staircase so as to elevate his voice.

"I want to thank you all for coming, and regret to say our evening is coming to an end. It has been a wonderful night for all of us, I do sincerely hope; I know it has been for me. It has been a privilege to meet so many fine people, my peers, from so many areas of the continent."

Katara, leaning against the far wall with a dismal expression and horrible posture, recognized this speech as the one Hakoda had insisted he give. The protocol speech, with no real intent either than to excuse his lack of familiarity with all the guests, and the insufficient time to expand it.

"Before we part," he continued, "I would like to engage you all in something new. Over the past few weeks I have found it necessary that an award be given, a recognition of outstanding service to our kingdom. I would like to present that award now to it's new owner."

XXX

Jedias Freer knew.

He did not think, he did not assume, he did not hope. He knew.

This was the one he was looking for, the one who had evaded him all those years. He was here, right before him. Looking into his eyes.

Even as their gazes had first met, just out of complete happenstance, Jedias could feel the tension start, the air sharpen. He watched the boy's eyes bristle, turn away. He watched him retreat, as naturally as possible, into the crowd. But Jedias was not about to lose him.

The boy was a fool for coming out into public, but Jedias could not help but thank him. Rebels were all foolish to begin with; it only made his job easier.

That blue mask... that haunting, taunting blue abomination that had racked his dreams for years. Such an innocent design and color, but it was the work of devils. Carved by a demon. That simple but powerful blue mask had slipped from his grasp night upon night with amazing swiftness, but now it was to meet it's fate. Now, the man behind the mask would be revealed, imprisoned, and Jedias could finally call his career a success.

He did not honestly care who the rebel actually was; all that mattered was that he be caught. That those penetrating eyes finally be fearful in his presence. Jedias could not live while this mere boy escaped so constantly and so easily, and safely behind a mask!

The boy was quick, and shrewd. He knew who Jedias was, and he knew the danger. It was good for him, but in the end it would avail him nothing. Not any more. This time he would not escape.

Jedias pressed on, following the black bandana, the scarlet vest. Occasionally the blue porcelain itself turned and peered over his shoulder... and every time it did Jedias cursed it. Every time it did, Jedias' anger only gave him away, and the boy only got farther out of reach.

It was hard to maneuver in such a crowd; the guests were young adults, adolescents, thrashing about like animals in comparison to standing still, which is exactly what Jedias Freer needed them to do. Their levity got in his way too often; he could not just slip by them, he had to work harder than that. And of course, the boy was a genius at moving quickly in such a congregation.

Jedias' fingers flexed and twitched; they could almost feel the mask in their grasp. How they hungered to yank it from it's place.

He was getting closer now. The boy knew it, too. He was taking more diverse detours, making quicker turns, but Jedias was now familiar with his rhythm and slowly settling into it. He was closer than the boy would like; he tried to lengthen the distance but the captain of Snatchers was always behind him. He could not lose him now.

Jedias could not help grinning wildly; this was it, his moment. Nothing would stand in his way. The rebel boy was his at last.

Fifteen feet away... ten now. His hand lifted. He could not believe his luck, that the boy had been here, serving himself on a platter...

The boy swiped a small plate of tart from the table, fingering it as he moved faster away. The Snatcher only grew closer.

Seven feet away. Jedias began to jog. Six. Five.

Four.

Three.

Two--

The boy made to jump away but he was too late.

Jedias' hand blitzed like lightning and clamped upon the end of the boy's mask.

One foot away.

And with all his strength, he tore it completely from the boy's head.

He used such force that he stumbled. The boy stopped moving, frozen for a moment, his face turned away from his enemy.

"Yes!" Jedias gasped in triumph. "Face me!"

He did.

A second mask, a black one made of simple fabric, was set across his eyes. It obscured his identity just as successfully as the blue one had.

Jedias cringed in fury, but he did not let that dampen his progress. He told his muscles to move, to pull off that mask as well--

He never got the chance.

A door to the kitchens that he had not seen before opened to his right. A wheeled table of deserts rolled in between he and his prey. It was pushed by a plump servant. Jedias had to leap backwards to avoid being run over, dropping the blue mask to the floor in the process.

"Careful, Gleto, you almost hit my friend."

Count Hakoda strode from the kitchen behind the servant, face bright and content.

"Are you all right, Jedias?" he asked, eyeing his frantic, upset eyes.

Mr. Freer straightened, and cleared his throat. "I..."

"Have a drink," Hakoda said. "There is some alcohol in the kitchen, you are welcome to it. Just be sure no mischievous children follow you in."

Suddenly the boy spoke.

"Your tart, sir," he said calmly to the Count. He offered the tiny plate with a stony expression to Hakoda. Hakoda looked moderately surprised but smiled.

"Oh, why thank you, my boy."

Jedias' lip curled. Who would believe the innocent guest was a rebel? He looked down at the floor, searching for the blue mask, anything that could destroy the boy's charade, anything that could be used as evidence against him. But it was gone. Mr. Freer moved slightly to the left but received an elbow to the side of the head.

"Argh!" he growled and glared at the first face in sight.

"Excuse me, sir!"

"Careful, my friend," Hakoda laughed, and clamped Jedias' shoulder. "Oh, listen, Sokka is making an announcement."

Jedias suddenly began to hear the lad's voice; he hadn't heard it before.

"...a recognition of outstanding service to our kingdom. I would like to present that award now to it's new owner."

He watched Sokka pause for effect, and then announce,

"Please join me in honoring... the captain Rebel Snatcher, Jedias Freer!"

Applause and cheering broke out. Half the congregation did not even have a clue where or who he was. Hakoda was laughing and patting him proudly on the back.

"Well done, lad!"

That was all it took to turn heads; soon everyone was discovering he was the man and turning to applaud directly in his face. Jedias moved backwards a few steps as they advanced, smiling steely, and then turned quickly on his heel.

The rebel boy's eyes stared fierce and unforthcoming only inches from his own. They stared through the eyeholes of the black fabric that had spared him accusation. Jedias closed tight five fingers like a claw over the rebel's shoulder and forced his ear to his lips.

"I will get you," he hissed onto the boy's skin. "I swear by the gods I will see you in chains, and the rest of your rebel mongrels. I will discover your identity, and will see you hanged. And if I do not, my son will."

He released him, stepping back and staring into his eyes for a final moment. The boy did not so much as blink.

Mr. Freer then strained his lips into the iron smile acceptable to the public, and pushed his way through the clapping , cheering crowd to receive his award. Nigh invisible, the boy stooped down to pick up his blue mask from the floor, and melted into the shadowy corners of the hall where he could refasten it over his face.

XXX

"Katara?"

"Lee!"

"Forgive me, I was... detained."

"I thought you had left! I thought--"

"No, I would never leave in such rude obscurity. I am sorry, Katara."

"What is it? You sound exhausted, and you look pale."

She lifted a finger to brushed the bangs across his brow; they were damp with perspiration.

He smiled and took her hand away from it's work, rolling it over and gently kissing the back of her fingers. She blinked.

"Actually... I feel fine," he said.

She nodded; it was really all she could do.

They stood in the same place they had met that night; in the shady hallway a floor above the party, and at the same moonlit window. Katara had given up tracking Lee down and, in even worse disappointment and confusion, had retreated a second time. He had known where to find her, and save her just in time.

The touch of his lips on her knuckles had whiped her body of anxiety; she sauntered away from him towards the window. Though her body was relaxed, her mind was not. It was as if he had sparked years into her, given her a small taste of a future event. She did not know how to process it.

"Why did you do that?" she whispered.

"Do what?" She felt him draw closer. Her arm and bosom touched the window pane; she felt it's chill on her warm skin and it was refreshing. The fragile glass was fogged from the rain that had passed just minutes ago, a miniature frozen lake that still beckoned her creativity, her most imaginative waterbending.

"Why did you kiss me," she whispered.

The hand that had touched his mouth lifted and was cradled between her breasts. She felt her heartbeat with it. Somehow every feeling in her fingertips was different, now that they had known his affection.

"Well... I kissed your hand," he said.

She turned to face him; his face may have been sculpted of purely driven snow, it was so perfectly white in the window's light.

"Even so," she said, "it is part of me."

He smiled. "But not _directly_ you."

She shook her head. "Only men would worry about such details. They can rationalize boundaries of propriety that way, you know."

He chuckled. "I was only trying to be a gentleman."

She smiled too. "I know."

"Has no man kissed your hand before?" He sounded skeptical.

"Yes, he has." She looked back out the window. "Many have. But only because it was etiquette. Not with any tenderness or heart."

"You would prefer... sincerity."

She glanced at him. "Well, yes. Who would not?"

He sighed and came to her side, leaning against the window as she did. "No one comes to mind."

She smiled, and they were quiet for a moment. Then he asked,

"Do I pass the sincerity test?"

She laughed. "Of course. You are the top of the class."

A new smile spread his face, one he hadn't seen before. It was grateful, and shy, but... sad. Or no, was it relief? Fear? She could not tell.

"Katara?"

"Yes... Lee?"

"When I... when I am with you... I feel different. Better. Like for the first time, I am alive."

She gave him a whimsical, curious look, a twist in her lips and a wrinkle in her nose. "Really."

"Really." He chuckled softly. "You do not believe me."

"I see no absence of life in you to begin with; I think you already have so much."

"So you think."

"How could someone with so much spirit," she whispered, "find life in someone as ordinary as myself?"

"The spirit that possesses my heart is a dark one." He stroked the crest of her cheek, the line of her jaw, with the back of his finger. She shuddered and he continued. "You are anything but ordinary. You are light." She felt his forehead brush across her own; she closed her eyes and listened to his voice the way she had never listened before.

"You are light in those corners of my chest where I feel the pulse of my heart could never reach."

His fingertips found her collarbone; they moved towards the indentation in her throat, where the azure jewel of her mother hung in it's usual place. She felt his other hand guide her own to trail across her ear, and together they cradled her head in an upright angle. Her eyes still closed, she felt the cool tips of his hair glide beneath her chin, rest on her neck. His head was at her throat; she felt his bangs on her skin, and the surge of water within them beckoned her more powerfully than before.

She could not see it but she knew Lee's lips tenderly touched the jewel on her neck, a kiss of reverence and thankfulness. But her heart caught when they moved to her throat. He pressed his kiss against her pulse, feeling her heart on his mouth.

"Your heart..." he whispered, so faintly she could have mistaken it as a whistle of the breeze. His kisses were the gentlest she could imagine; he barely touched her yet the motion hit her so forcefully. It was like the affection of an infant, or the brush of eyelashes. He shifted his weight, guiding her arm back down to her side. In her ear he murmured,

"Take this now my bid of goodnight: your spirit is with me; it succors me, and if I could have it govern me, as the moon governs the tide, how glorious the surrender that would fill me."

XXX

Hours later in the damp, cool, and wonderfully dark tresses of the mountain's forest, Lee ran his finger along the edge of his blue mask, holding it in his hands, staring into it's sunken, lifeless eyes.

"Ah, Mr. Freer," he murmured to himself. "How joyous you would be if only you knew tonight was not the first time you had snatched a mask from my face."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N**: Well then! I'll have to get the next chappie up pronto. Haha, that's funny, Jecc. Ok, ok. But seriously sorry about the Jeccelo Is Dead period, let's try to put that behind us :S. But i hope you liked this one!! Please review, if i am still worthy of reviews! XPPP And sorry if it's sloppy i didn't really proof it that much. i wanted to get it posted. :S


	10. Disregard

10: Disregard

**A/N**: A'ight, here's chapter 10! And to all Avatards, leaving out all shipping matters, THE SERIES FINALE WAS AMAZING!! Those were the most amazing fight scenes/duels/showdowns I've ever seen!! We tip our hats to ya, Mike and Bryan! :D ZUTARA LIVES ON AS LONG AS IT'S FANS LIVE ON. (Canon is more like guidelines anyway XP!)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Dearest Katara,_

_By now word of our departure has reached your father, and so you as well. Even so I thought to enclose this small letter personally to you, since I could not have much individual time with you at the party last week. (Oh, and do thank Sokka again for the entertaining evening, and forgive us our immaturity. It was hard sleeping last night with your disdainful pout in my mind, racking my soul with my many sins.)_

_I do not have much time to write but I am determined to do so. Here is my humble and reluctant farewell. The spacious countryside will be a taste of freedom no doubt, but I will miss the mountains, the rain, and most importantly my friends. I will come visit you on the winter solstice at the feast your father annually prepares. Even if he falls short of tradition this year, I shall be there nonetheless. Anything to see your smiling face again._

_Please be safe._

_Much love, _

_ Jet Freer_

"He writes it on the back of a government notice," Sokka cackled. "You would think he was a hermit!"

"Sokka!" Katara held the letter against her breast so he could not read over her shoulder. "He had limited time, and it is sweet that he took the effort to write at all."

"Is that the same government notice that came out just a week ago?" Hakoda asked distantly from the end of the breakfast table. He was the only one eating; Sokka and Katara were seated down simply for the company of their family.

"Let's have it," Sokka ordered, and even when Katara did not respond, he forced the paper over in her hands.

Across the top was bold, black ink, and quite unforgettable.

"So it is," Sokka said. "_All those still loyal to the great crown of His Majesty King Ozai and the flag of this noble country have now the strict obligation and responsibility of seeing to the capture and elimination of all rebel forces. Those citizens who affiliate themselves with, show hospitality to, or aid in any way the dangerous rogues will be brought to justice and severely punished according to His Majesty's law. Thus it is;_ signed the Snatcher Captain Jedias Freer, not to leave out Kind Ozai's seal. Do you think this is necessary, Father? Are not all rebels being quickly dealt with?"

"Apparently Jedias thought it necessary." Hakoda sipped his tea from two rough hands neatly folded around his cup. "He sees a... shall we say _slacking_ among the efforts of the people."

"He certainly issued this notice faster than I've seen him issue anything." Sokka sat informally upon the table top, swinging his legs off the side. "I heard that after leaving my party he journeyed immediately to the palace."

"I think he was puffed up about receiving that _award_ of yours," Katara said crossly, "and headed straight to the King just to flaunt it about."

"Katara, love, that is not Jedias' character at all," Hakoda said calmly. "And Sokka, it was very impressive of you to give the award; I did not expect it from you."

Sokka grinned smugly in Katara's direction. "Just being adventurous Father, as usual."

Katara frowned.

"I'll say!" Kana snapped. She appeared from no where, bustling in with a disgruntled mug.

"Sokka, the fields are scorched! A good twenty square feet is black as night! If you have been lighting your arrows on fire again, I swear I will--"

"Excuse me, Kana?" Hakoda turned in his seat.

"I have not done that in years!" Sokka said defensively. "And it never had the effect I was searching for anyway."

"Well, if this is another one of your pranks--"

"Kana." Hakoda stood from his seat, silencing her quickly. "Please repeat what you said. About the fields?"

"They are scorched, sir," she said gravely. "A little less than twenty square feet; the brush has been completely charred. It reeks even now of smoke; I suspect it happened not two hours ago."

"Take me to the scene," Hakoda said. "We must find out what happened."

"So it was not me?" Sokka got down from the table.

"Unless you want to assume responsibility," Hakoda called over his shoulder.

XXX

"I had little of a choice."

Katara glowered in his direction. "I do not know who or what you are, Lee, but you would have been arrested had you been found!"

"I was attacked, just out of nowhere." His voice was as wintry as the air around them. "Please understand."

"I do." She looked at the frozen dirt. "I was worried. I thought you had been hurt. And I had no idea you were a firebender."

"Usually I try to avoid firebending..." Lee ran his fine knife along one of the tree branches in which he sat. Bark crumbled off quietly in bits like flakes of ash. "Usually I never need to."

"What was so special about this moment, then?"

He looked at her with tired eyes. "Why are you angry with me, Katara?"

"You had the entire house in an uproar! Father even alerted the Snatchers; some firebenders living in our area were questioned!"

"I am sorry, but I had to defend myself. Is there any way I can mend what you see as a mistake?"

"Why now?" Katara returned his gaze harshly. "Why did you have to firebend now, and not any other time?"

"How do you know I have not firebent before?"

"What was so important that you had to firebend _now_?"

Lee dropped from the tree before her. Their cold clouds of breath shared the same small space between their glares.

"Katara, what is wrong?" he demanded. "Why are you attacking me like this?"

"Because things are different now!" Katara cried, and threw her fists against her sides. She stomped away from him, out of the shade of the tree, into the dismal afternoon sky. It was cloudy overhead; a snow fall was destined any coming week.

"What do you mean, Katara?" Lee reclined against the tree, waiting for her response. When she spoke, it was as if she were holding back tears. "Jedias Freer sent out orders," she said. "If we... If you are any sort of rebel, if you display any rebel behaviors, I am required to turn you in. If I do not... Lee, I cannot! Do not give me reason to, I beg you."

"Katara..."

"Who were you fighting? Who forced you to defend yourself?"

Lee stared at the back of her head, at her waterfall of hair that was ruffled by the biting breeze.

"You just asked me not to give you reason to accuse me," he said.

Her shoulders bunched as she clutched herself in her arms.

"I should not be here with you," she said in despair. "It is too dangerous, for both of us."

"It is just dangerous now that I have been firebending?"

"It was dangerous before! But now the danger has increased. We are betraying our families and our country--"

"Katara... this country..."

"Do not! Do not speak another word! If you speak a word against the throne I shall have to turn you in, now _stop_!"

"None of this was an issue when we first met, when we first became friends. You did not care who I was or what my motives were!"

"We were children then, Lee. Children! How much do children know or care? We need to grow up; we need to start being rational."

"So you are saying that we cannot be friends anymore, is that it?"

"No! Well..."

"Tell me, Katara!"

"I am just scared! I am confused and scared, can you not see that?"

"You came here looking for me, you started all this!"

"_You_ dropped in my window all those years ago, _you_ started all this!"

Lee let out a long, aggressive breath.

"Fine. I understand."

"I hope you do."

"It is clear you have been corrupted. Suddenly politics and other such depraved technicalities matter more to you than our friendship."

"That is not what I said!" She spun to throw a startled glare in his eyes.

"You may as well have! You have been poisoned to think that anyone who does not share your ideals or particular political loyalties is untrustworthy and a vile person."

"How dare you tell me what is in my heart! How dare you suggest my father and respected elders have _poisoned_ me!"

"I am only returning the favor."

"I have not condemned you, Lee, nor assumed anything about you! I have pleaded with you to give me _no_ reason to do so! I have been _lying_ for you, trying to ignore all mysteries of your background and only focus on our relationship. Not once have I mentioned your existence to anyone!"

"What about now, Katara? You are turning on me just like the rest of them! You suddenly label me as dangerous because I firebend to protect myself; our situation increases in treachery just because there is the chance I am a rebel."

"Lee, I have loyalties to my father, to my king!"

"You do not know King Ozai! You only respect and uphold him because your father does, and even he questions his allegiance!"

"How dare you! You leave my father out of this; he is twice the honorable man you will ever become!"

Lee's lips parted; he stared at Katara as if stunned. She knew not how to interpret his expression but she did not have time to ask; suddenly his face transformed into a more decipherable alarm. Like lightning, the ring of a blade sang through the air; Lee's hands sprouted two magnificent blades of steel. He brandished his swords before his chest all in a split second, and cried out to her,

"Run, Jun!"

Jun? Her name was not Jun. Katara stared at him in confusion, but he was looking over her shoulder. He launched himself forward, blades spinning and flying like a silver shield. Katara spun around and watched halves and bits of arrows litter the ground at her feet. Lee was moving forward faster than ever into the field, fighting some unseen adversary.

"Jun, get out of here!" he cried again, this time steeling a frantic glance over his shoulder. His eyes helped her to realize; he was protecting her identity.

_I should not be here with you. It is too dangerous, for both of us._

Her instinct was to draw water from the nearest source and defend herself, defend Lee, but as she studied the situation out in her mind with remarkable speed, she knew this was not her battle to fight. Fleeing was her only option at this point. While forcing her muscles to move, she caught a glimpse of the enemy. Two figures in cloaks and hoods, bows propped on their shoulders. There were much more arrows flying, only telling her there were much more foes concealed in the shadowy trees and brush.

Rebel Snatchers.

Katara looked one last time at Lee, his swords blazing with masterful accuracy. Shards of arrows peppered the earth wherever he stepped, blazing a trail of his brilliance.

"Lee!" Somehow she could not make herself leave.

"Jun, you have to run!" he commanded.

Katara forced herself to turn, to abandon her friend, and hurried as fast as her heart willed towards the manor.

XXX

Jet Freer lowered his bow, watching the boy in the blue mask as he leapt into the surrounding trees, making his escape after a marvelous display of defense.

"Should we follow him?" his closest comrade, Haru, asked. He looked at Jet from beneath his hood. The whiskers that coated his chin told days of restless pursuit.

"No," Jet sighed. He frowned down at the dirt. "I... I am not feeling that well."

"We will go back and rest," Haru said. "We have been at this for days."

"All right. Tell the other men to move out."

"Jet."

"Yes?"

"Do you think... lying and pretending to leave the city was a good idea? On your father's part, I mean. Do you think it has worked? Does the boy believe you are gone?"

Jet only sighed again. "Sometimes we have to lie to make good buisness, Haru."

"I know. I was merely..."

"Yes, I think it is working. He is showing signs of carelessness. It was foolish of him to be out here in the open just now. I only wish..."

He stopped, trailing off.

"Yes?" Haru asked.

"Nothing. Let's go."

"All right."

Haru rose to his feet and waded through the high grass, signaling the surrounding, hidden Snatchers. Jet remained on his knees in the dirt, staring at the open field ahead of him. His poor health was not a lie, but an excuse. And it was not physical; it was mental.

_Katara..._ he groaned within himself. _Tell me I did not see you here._

XXX

Katara paced her room, her white-knuckled grip on her mother's necklace pressing chain patterns into her skin. She was sweating, she was shivering; as she opened the window wider and wider there was less and less air. It seemed the walls were becoming fonder and fonder of her company, coming closer and closer, threatening to crush her in their affection.

How stupid she had been. How ridiculous and blind and selfish and rash.

"Oh, Lee... I should not have left you... Curse you, if you have been hurt... It is all my fault... Why did I leave you...? I should have stayed...! I am a fool... How could I have said those things..."

"You had every reason to say what you did."

Katara gasped and spun about. Lee crouched in the window sill, unscathed as far as she could see.

"Lee!"

She launched herself forward and he barely had enough time to get to his feet before she was in his arms. He clutched her so tightly he lifted her off her feet, both of them burying themselves in the other's hair, clothing, skin... They spoke to eachother all at once, like a mist of concern and regret circling them again and again.

"Katara, will you forgive me?" he murmured.

"You are the one who should forgive me," Katara said. "I was being stupid."

"I was the one being stupid."

"I should have listened to you..."

"I put you in danger..."

"I had to wait until our lives were threatened to realize..."

"I should not have put my own feelings before your safety."

"At any rate, it I was I who endangered you in the first place: I asked you to come to the field out of my own anger and weakness..."

"I was the one who returned to you all those years ago when I should have stayed away; I have been the grand architect of this dilemma since the beginning."

"Do not condemn yourself for childish curiosity..."

"Stop thinking that for a moment you did anything dishonorable..."

"That is absurd, Lee, I have done plenty..."

"Do not be foolish, Katara."

"Stop being so stubborn."

"Ah." Lee pulled away, holding her shoulders to stay the distance. "Let's not start fighting again, agreed?"

"Agreed," Katara sighed, and against his force managed to hug him again. "I am sorry, though, will you accept that? Part of this is my fault."

"As part of it is _my_ fault. I will accept your apology if you accept mine. I am sorry."

"Fine. I accept yours."

"And I yours."

She smiled up at him. "There, you see? Very negotiable."

"Barely." He chuckled, and lifted a finger to stroke her cheek. "Ah, Katara... I may have been arguing with you but in that moment you were all I really cared about."

"I can say the same," she whispered. "I cannot believe I left you there. I let you have all the excitement."

"Trust me, it was not a thrilling encounter."

"Well, fighting by your side, it could have been."

"Ah, ha, that would have been perfectly _disastrous_."

"Have you even _seen_ me waterbend aggressively?"

"I have seen you waterbend... clumsily."

She scowled playfully and turned away from his reach, moving towards the end of her bed.

"Forgive me," he chuckled. "How about you show me your aggressive waterbending?"

"Soon enough, I have no doubt you will see it," she said sharply. He laughed.

"Fair enough. I shall watch my back."

"Come here. I want to show you something."

He came to her and sat at her side upon the bed. She leaned backward and reached under her pillow, and then withdrew a book. It was leather bound with her full name engraven in the bottom corner.

"Katara Riversong," Lee murmured. "It is a beautiful name for you."

"Thank you." She unwound the binding and opened the book to a certain page near the back. No writing was there, only a flower held between the pages. A light blue flower; turquoise.

"An emerthen?" Lee asked.

She smiled. It was dry as bone, extremely brittle, and quite flat, pressed there in the spine for years.

"Remember?" she whispered, and removed it gently from it's place. She held it before Lee and he studied it, then grinned.

"Gods... Is that one of the emerthens I gave you when we were children?"

"Of course it is." Katara held it to her nose and smelled the scent of the parchment, the deep press of the journal's pages, and then found the lingering flicker of the emerthen scent. "This was the one you placed behind my ear. I was awake, by the way."

He laughed. "So I suspected."

"Why did you do it?"

"I was terribly curious at that age... and quite entranced." He shot her a long look, and she laughed.

"If you say so."

"So you enjoy pressing flowers?" he asked playfully.

"Well..." she placed the emerthen back in the journal and closed it, "it was something my father told me. He said my mother was pressing flowers when they first met. It was then that he realized she was the one for him."

"Really?"

"Do you think it not all that romantic?" she chuckled.

"No, no," Lee defended, "I was simply... well, it is a different story than you usually hear."

"So you think it... strange."

"No! No, no, I think..."

Their eyes fastened and he suddenly looked at her like she were a book, a work to study, and in her pages he had found something. Something had been revealed.

His voice dropped to a whisper, his mischievous smile turned to a solemn gaze. "I think it is very believable," he said.

She gazed back, wondering but knowing what his eyes were saying. "Do you?"

"Yes. I _know_ it is very believable... I know because..."

"I think it is happening to me," she whispered.

He paused, then, "Yes. Exactly."

"What..." she took a breath and started again. "What do you think it was about the flowers that intrigued my father?"

The tips of their noses met; Katara's eyes revisited his lips, remembering their shape and texture.

"Nothing," Lee whispered. He smiled. "I seriously doubt it had anything to do with the flowers, Katara."

Her heart leapt in her chest, making her jump... and setting her mouth against his smile. She felt his lips close beneath her own and suddenly all the world fell. She closed her eyes and kissed him perhaps with the complete consciousness that it was a mistake, that it would lead to a greater dilemma than she could imagine. This was not wrong but it was definitely not right; it would throw the entire situation out of balance.

"I do not care," she murmured with authority to the nirvana, to the firmament, speaking even as he kissed her. The universe only shook it's head and she found she had to announce it more forcefully. "I do... not... _care_!"

"Right then," Lee whispered defensively, though the kissing did not stop. "_You_ were the one who asked."

"Shhhhh." Katara trapped his neck in the fortress of her arms, her resolve growing and so with that her passion. Everything about her actions was dooming her. Not a pinch of ease would come with this.

"Not... listening..." She groaned in frustration and suddenly he unlocked her arms, pulling away from her lips, leaving her suspended.

"Katara," he breathed, "if you are angry with me, then why on earth keep kissing me?"

"I am not angry with _you_," she said impatiently. "As far as I am concerned, you have been doing everything wonderfully lately."

"Then what--"

"Shhh. Lee. Trust me. I am anything but angry."

He smiled. "If you say so."

And their lips met again. This time Katara allowed herself to breathe, relaxing herself and moving her hands slower and less violently through his hair. Lee's hands supported her waist, and she found him slowly guiding her to her back. She felt her pillow beneath her head; his fingers brushed her hair out from under her neck. Propped on his elbows, Lee continued kissing her as the light from the window diminished. The moon's glow that had become his cloak touched his shoulders once again and he felt the night call him back like a mother would call her children.

Slowly their lips stilled; he pulled gently back and watched her eyes open. She stared up at him; up at a mask, not a face she could ever fully see.

"Will I ever see your face?" she whispered.

"I have to leave," Lee said. "And I will not be back until the winter solstice."

Katara's brow furrowed. "What? Why not?"

"I will come back then. I have to go away for a while but I will return with the first snowfall."

"That is two weeks away!"

"I know. It will be dreadfully long and boring without you..." He traced a lock of hair on her cheek. "But I have to."

"Why?"

"After what happened today... and yesterday... I think my presence is only inviting more danger. You understand, Katara?"

Her face told all objection but her lips spoke, "Yes. I do."

He kissed those lips one last time and she clung to him a little longer. As he broke away to breathe, his mouth traveled to her eyelids, kissing them shut.

"Sleep now. I will see you on the solstice."

"I love you."

He stared down at her, his face in the darkness but she could see the skepticism in his eyes.

"We are very young, Katara."

"Yet my joy exceeds a thousand lifetimes."

He smiled. "Well... I suppose you would know _that_."

"And what do _you_ know, Lee?"

For a moment his only communication was the gaze. And then, when she thought he would not answer, he did.

"I know and promise I will return to you on the solstice. Will you be waiting for me?"

"You know I will."

"Thank you, Katara."

"I have no choice."

"No... I mean, thank you. For something else."

"For what?"

He smiled again and kissed her forehead. "For giving _me_ joy that could exceed a hundred thousand lifetimes."

XXX

_That night, despite all the complications of our affection, I could not doubt that Lee and I would be together. He would return and we would be inseparable. I knew I loved him more deeply than I could ever love anyone. And I knew he loved me, too, even if he was afraid to admit it to himself. I did not condemn him because of that; it only made me love him more._

_And so I waited, living in a state of bliss until after what seemed like an eternity, the winter solstice-- the first snowfall-- finally arrived._

_Had I known, however, that Lee would _not_ arrive with it, I would have spared myself the pain and ended everything-- my life, my future-- before his lips had even left my kiss._

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N**: I know. Terrible of me. Pleaz review!!


	11. Endless Winter: End of Part 1

11: The Endless Winter

**A/N**: Judgment day. Prepare for hate mail, Jecc. Oh, and I changed Sokka's birthday to November, just cuz it fits better with the winter solstice being two weeks away and everything... Like any of you care but it was really getting at my OCDness. (lol)

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Katara awoke to the soft nudging of a familiar hand. As her eyes opened she saw Hakoda's wrist, then the soft creases in his skin. His knuckles were worn, perhaps from polishing and shaving knives, and small, sporadic ink stains dotted the soft crooks of his fingers. She held that hand with her own, smiling foggily up at him. She was descending from an ocean wave of bliss from the night before, still catching some of the spray on her face.

"Katara?"

"Mmmhmm..."

"I am sorry to wake you, darling, but I thought you would want to see this before I leave for the royal city."

She sat up rubbing her eyes, a tad confused. Hakoda's other hand lifted and in it's grasp was a roll of parchment. Katara's brow furrowed.

"Is it for me?"

"Not exactly. It is from Prince Lu Ten."

Katara was suddenly very much awake. "Is it really? Lu Ten?"

"It arrived here just last night, addressed to me, but I see no harm in you reading it. He even mentions you."

"He does?"

"Here, read it over. You two had a sort of bonding moment, I think it is only fair."

"Oh, thank you, Father! Are you sure I can read all of it?"

"I do not doubt your courage, Katara. Whatever you read here you should be able to weather nicely. You have a good and understanding heart, and I think it is about time you and Sokka got a look at what the world is like beyond our secure gates."

"You mean... it is despairing?"

"Not all of it. Lu Ten glorifies in many things. But in order to appreciate the sweet, we must first taste of the bitter, am I right, love?"

"Yes, Father."

"He is a noble young man. His epistle is a work of art. Enjoy it, darling, and we can talk about it later if you so wish. I have to leave now."

"Thank you, Father."

He exchanged the parchment and she exchanged an embrace. Once his strong arms had slid from around her shoulders he got to his feet and exited the room.

"Father, will Sokka want to read this?" Katara asked his back.

"I am considering it," he replied over his shoulder. "In the meantime, it is best if we keep it between you and me."

"Yes, sir."

As her door closed and Hakoda's footsteps faded down the hall, Katara moved quickly to the window and thrust open the drapes. Light spilled in from the morning sky; it was overwhelming and painful at first but as her eyes adjusted she sat upon the sill for a moment and gazed at the landscape. Everything seemed ten times more beautiful; everything was perfect.

Hurrying back to her bed, Katara propped up her pillow and began to unwind the parchment. The elegant handwriting only brought to mind Lu Ten's lovely features, his dark hair in tight curls, his deep and afflicted eyes; his velveteen voice, a haunting, soothing lullaby. Reading his words in script only brought so much more of his memory to life. As Katara read, she found herself recalling more and more, until it was as if he were sitting beside her on the bed, just as Lee had been the night before, whispering all the written words into her ear.

_Most honorable Count Hakoda,_

_ Were I to properly thank you for your loyalty, I am afraid you would be hopelessly entangled in the miles and miles of required parchment. Please tolerate my inadequate mentioning and know you have supported my father, cousin, and I in ways you could not imagine. Financially, emotionally, and physically you have been a refuge and precious source of encouragement. I sometimes shame myself for leaving my country in the corrupted state it is in, which only leads me to admire you; you who have not fled as I have, but remained steadfast in hopes of being an exemplary beacon for those who are confused and unethical. One day they will look to you, and your children; they will realize their wrongs and your family, the Riversong family, will be credited for their redemption._

Katara read on, studying Lu Ten's account of his many travels and afflictions. The first few body paragraphs were simply the prince trying to locate and reach his uncle and cousin. Katara remembered Zuko like a withering, abandoned candle, and it swept a last hopeful flicker against the belly of her heart. As Lu Ten's words of Zuko expanded, so did the flame.

_Zuko is not the Zuko I remember; but it is how I expected it to be. I cannot fully imagine the weight of the scar he carries; the scar of his exile at the hand of my uncle, his own father. I say scar in a figurative and literal meaning, as you well know._

_His face is brooding, impatient. His eyes are always very outlying. Never once since I found them has he ever truly looked me in the eyes. I suspect my father Iroh could say the same. Zuko goes away for long stretches of time, taking food and weapons. I question his wanderings but my father is frankly at ease. I remember the years gone past when I could talk to Zuko, when he found my life adventurous and longed to be at my side wherever I went. I see just the sliver of that boy now; Zuko is a man. Undoubtedly he has outgrown idolizing me. I fear he has connected the pain of his family and homeland to me. I worry I represent in his eyes the future he now will never have. If that is the case, how torturous my presence must be. Still, I felt that I had no choice but to join them, and not to do so would be the same as casting my honor to swine._

Katara quickly moved ahead; for some reason her heart clenched at the mentioning of King Ozai and Zuko's exile. It sparked confusion in her heart; an epiphany or prompting she had been trying to avoid all these years and now was feeling the sting of once again. She shuddered and continued quickly.

The sun slowly rose, filling her bedroom with light. She was wrapped in the tresses of the letter that was in reality several scrolls long. Lu Ten's words were inspiring, curious, poetic... disturbing. He described the shocking scenes of poverty and suffering beyond the royal mountains, the drastic unveiling of reality as he, Iroh, and Zuko fled to the border. It had humbled them greatly, and if not all of them, at least him.

_Because of his exile Zuko cannot be within the country borders, but for the last four years, he has insisted we stay as closely along the border as we can. I cannot remember a night with them when we could not see the palace in the distance, a tiny sliver of black on the crest of the hills. Zuko is going through more pain than anyone his age perhaps will ever experience; it is understandable that in his confusion he still clings to those who have cruelly cast him away. Strangely, Zuko does not seem to condemn them, his father and sister and other family members who turned their backs on him. It is almost as if he condemns himself, that he accepts the savagery of Ozai and Azula and believes he deserves it._

_Zuko is a very peculiar man now. His actions and words defy eachother: while he seems vocally and mentally obsessed with regaining honor and returning home-- however that could happen-- he physically does nothing to reach that goal. _

The confusion only intensified; Katara needed answers so desperately now but she could not stop reading... The sun rose slightly higher but it began to be hugged by building clouds. It seemed the planet itself was anxious for the winter.

_How is your lovely Katara? I hope she is joyful and well. All children should be. Although forgive me, she would not be a child anymore, would she? Barely a child; more a woman now. When I talked to her four years ago I was overwhelmed by her sensitive and subjective spirit. I was afraid I had said too much. Has she spoken to you of Zuko or his banishment? I do admit I told her much of the truth; I only hope I have not dampened too greatly her trust. I know you have friends in the government, good Hakoda. Despite my precautions, I do desire for your children to know the truth as we do. Please, Hakoda, when you feel they are ready, tell them. Help them understand. They are the hope of our country's future, as I said before._

_Katara brings to mind my aunt, Queen Ursa. Before she fell ill, and even as she did, she had enough courage to hold planets in orbit, enough love to raise the sun. Though Katara has still many years to grow and mature, I can see her integrity like dew on the grass. It will be tested many times; sometimes it will slacken and sometimes it will overwhelm. But at her life's destination she will have mastered the ultimate weapon of her heart, a weapon that is as gentle as it is fierce. What beauty... what hope._

XXX

"Father!"

"Is Sokka back yet, Kana?"

"No, sir, but he told me he would be back around night fall."

"Father--"

"Could you send someone out to retrieve him, please?"

"Yes, sir."

"Father!"

"Yes, Katara, dear, what is it?"

He blinked and stared when he saw her eyes red with tears, her cheeks raw.

"Is it the letter?" he asked tenderly.

Feebly she nodded. "I..."

"Darling, I am sorry." He cradled her against him. They stood in the abandoned dining room; two servants saw the embrace and quickly corrected their steps, slipping back through the kitchen door.

"Lu Ten is safe," he murmured. "I know it sounds dangerous, but he is a brave man... Perhaps I should not have given it to you."

"No, no." She whiped her eyes and pulled away from him. She was as tall as his breast now; she did not have to look up that far anymore.

"Father, I am so confused. It is tormenting me how confused I..."

"Shhh. Tell me. Ask me anything."

"Father, why does Lu Ten call King Ozai a traitor, why does he speak against the crown? Why has he abandoned his home and fled, banishing himself, why? Why does he take pity on Zuko, Zuko who betrayed the kingdom, who was banished for a reason! Why do I feel that I need to believe Lu Ten, that Zuko is the one wronged? Why!"

"Katara, come with me." Hakoda took her hand and together they left the dining room. As they did, the servants crept back out to set the table for dinner.

Hakoda lead her through the Hall, past the mighty oak doors to the small door of his study. Inside the candles that burned calmed her somewhat. It was a dim, cluttered, but magical room that Sokka and Katara were seldom allowed to enter. It thrilled them whenever they were given that privilege. But Katara could not be thrilled; her heart was far too dejected. Instead she sank onto the single sofa beside her father. She was still in her nightgown, hugging her knees against her chest, her tangled hair lying scattered about her shoulders.

Hakoda took her in his arms and set his chin upon her head, and softly began to speak.

"Katara... I do not want to scare you. I do not want you to think we are unsafe here. Because we are very safe. We are well trusted and well protected. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she murmured.

"All right. Now, I will explain. First you must understand the difference between Prince Lu Ten and myself. Lu Ten has lived with the royals his entire life; he is part of their family. He knows more about their hearts and their personalities than anyone; he experiences them not as leaders and public figures, but people. Real people with feelings and ideas and weaknesses."

Katara gave a shuddered breath and Hakoda squeezed her tighter.

"When Zuko was banished, there were many conflicting opinions about the situation and the justice thereof. If you remember, he was just a child then, thirteen years old. There were some who were aggressive towards him and his crime and others who believed no crime existed. Lu Ten was one of the latter examples; he belligerently opposed Zuko's exile, stirring up many questions regarding King Ozai's ability to rule justly. Lu Ten also felt it incredibly perverse and wicked that Ozai, Zuko's own father, was the one to give his sentence."

"But was it? Father, what did Zuko do--"

"Shh. Listen, love. Lu Ten confronted me. He frankly told me his side and his views of the ordeal, pleading with me to not hold Zuko as a traitor, as now the whole country would. I believed him, Katara. I do not think Zuko deserved to be banished. But I cannot speak out about it; the deed is done, and if Lu Ten, a great prince, was unable to persuade Ozai differently then how could I?"

"You could try."

"It is not that simple, Katara. I do not believe it is my affair."

"Zuko was your prince, too."

"In time you will understand, but this is all I can tell you. Please, Katara."

She sighed, clutching his shirt in tight fingers. "All right, Father. But who should I believe? What should I do when I am asked where my loyalties lie?"

"You must not adopt any standards from me. As your father I can give you instruction, and I am supposed to teach you all that I can, but I cannot decide for your heart where it truly belongs. In time, you will discover the full conflict, and you will decide whether to oppose or sustain our king. Lu Ten has given you his opinion as well; just because I agree with it does not mean you would too had you the full picture. You must break away from me and find your own path. But now is not the time. Now, you must honor the crown as we all do. I must still. Now, it is not our duty to publicly speak against Ozai's decisions. Now is the time to be as one with our people. To unite, not to divide."

"But Lu Ten abandoned the king."

"That was Lu Ten's path to take. He had discovered for himself what he believed. You, Katara, are not ready. I cannot tell you everything but in due time you will learn more about our king and his family. That is when you can be as Lu Ten, and do what you feel is right."

"Twice... in the letter... Lu Ten referred to his perspective as _the truth."_

"And he has every right to do so."

"But _is_ it the truth?"

"I cannot answer that."

"Do _you_ think so?"

"Right now, I think it is best not to say."

"But why should you keep quiet... Lu Ten has asked you, asked _me_, to remember our obligations to Zuko."

"Katara, firstly, _you_ cannot know yet if _you_ have obligations to Zuko. Someday you may fully agree with his exile and stand by King Ozai's decisions. Now is not your time to decide. Secondly, Lu Ten is not naive; he knows what a sacrifice that would be for our family should we publicly oppose the king. He is not _requiring_ us to make that sacrifice. He simply has asked me to, in my heart, know for myself. And I do."

"I feel like... I have no choice but to honor Zuko. How could my heart go against yours, against Lu Ten's?"

"No one knows what the future may bring, Katara. I will still love you as my daughter no matter what you decide. I need to treat you as an individual who has as much rights to their opinions as I do. Anything could change your mind."

"But nothing could change my heart."

"You do not yet know what is in your heart."

"You are, and Lu Ten, and what you believe matters very much to me."

"Katara, Lu Ten and I are not Zuko."

Katara looked into her father's eyes for a long moment, then nestled back against his chest, silenced. Though she was far from settled, she said the necessary words, for she could say no more.

"Thank you, Father. I understand now."

"For now, Katara, be a valiant citizen of Avatryal, and honor the crown to the best of your ability."

Outside, the wind began to howl. Katara's heart opened up to the frozen valley, both of them moaning in waiting for the first snowfall.

XXX

_The Feast of the Solstice_

_Two weeks later_

"A bit pathetic, isn't it, that the very first snow fall of the year is two thirds of the way through December?"

"It is only like this every other year, Sokka."

"Oh, I know, Kana. I just fancy pointing out nature's awkward kinks."

It was a feast to behold. Everything seemed to glow golden in the otherwise dim dining room. Rows and rows of candles illuminated the entrees and side dishes to almost irresistible appeal. Hot butter spread on the backs of rolls shimmered and made the bread seem aflame. The cooked, slippery skin of the goose appeared almost faceted as light glittered off it like millions of tiny mirrors. The white grapes were smooth pearls, the beans carved from emerald, and the crystalline goblets, plates, and silverware shone a hundred times their actual value.

"How beautiful, Kana," Hakoda praised, his eyes passing over the table. "Well to tradition."

"It looks wonderful," Katara agreed. Her countenance was unusually merry; no one had looked to the solstice feast with more gusto than she that year.

"A shame it is all about to be slowly digested over several days," Sokka mumbled. She slapped him as he walked by.

"But," he announced, moving to his seat, "it will not do us much good otherwise! Tuck in, everyone!"

"Wait, Sokka," Hakoda said, "not all our guests have arrived."

At that moment, from an open window, Katara heard the clapping of horses' hooves, the clatter of a carriage coming over the stone walkway and a coach's muffled command.

"_Woooaaa_..."

"Kana, will you shut the window please?"

"Yes, sir."

"Jet!" Katara hitched up her gown and hurried before anyone to the main doors.

"Are we a little excited to see someone?" Sokka muttered. Kana substituted for the slapping this time.

Katara was at the front door in a split second; she collided with a stunned butler, briskly excusing herself, and opened the door just enough to squeeze through.

XXX

Lee crept along the familiar, prickly forest floor. Through the trees and across the field, the manor was a beacon of light amidst the dark; the windows glowed warm and welcoming, yet his eyes had been trained to notice such as danger.

Then why did he keep moving forward? It was simple really. He was in love.

He had been for many years now, ever since childhood when he had first laid eyes on her curious, critical face. He had not always known, of course, that she was the missing piece of his soul, but that was not important. He knew now.

Strangely, though, he had not believed her when she said she returned his affections. Certainly she was fond of him, and undoubtedly swept up in their thrilling game of secret acquaintance. In fact, he knew it was just infatuation on her part. She could not possibly love him the way he loved her, so profoundly and so officially. So beyond their years.

Any other man would have despaired in that thought, but not Lee. Why? He was not sure, but he knew his heart could weather much. Even if she did not love him like he loved her, even if it really was a phase of enchantment and attraction that would soon pass, he knew one day he would have her. Somehow, they would be together. They had to be. Her heart would grow and she... oh, she would love him... and accept him... _all_ of him. She had to.

Silent as a wraith, he exited the forest, coming up into the familiar grasses and bushes. Tonight he did not suspect trouble; most of the Snatchers were probably home with their families, what with the winter holidays so close. It was the solstice, a magical night.

Oh, if only the world knew how magical it would be. Lee's heart swelled in his chest; he moved faster.

He kept close to the road where the most trees were planted. He could stay well hidden without them but it was still a precaution he thought wise to take. The manor grew bigger as it grew closer, and whenever he could he stole a glance at her bedroom window, the portal and threshold to his spirit.

That moment, to his right, he heard the familiar sounds of a horse and carriage. In his peripheral, he spotted it's sillouhette coming down the road by which he traveled, two horses and a single carriage with a coachman atop his perch. It was no question they shared Lee's destination.

He sunk lower to the ground and moved more resourcefully through the brush. Unnecessary close encounters was not in his favor, and the gods know who was in that carriage to begin with. Hakoda's friends were not usually without power, and as far as Lee was concerned, all power was a threat.

As much as he would have preferred it, he could not beat the horse to the manor without falling into it's stride. So instead, Lee hung back, kneeling motionless in the grass and watching it trot ahead of him, turning at the manor gate. The coachman and the guards there exchanged words, and to meet Lee's expectations, the gate was quickly opened. He rose to his feet as the carriage rattled through, coming to a stop just twenty paces from the grand doors.

"_Woooaaa_..." the coach said, and one horse flipped it's head as if the mane that had been trimmed down still hung in it's eyes.

Lee snuck from behind the last available tree to the back wall of the manor, the wall he had climbed so many times before to reach Katara. Standing beside the garden that followed the cobblestone pathway, he peered around the corner, curious in spite of himself.

The coachman hopped down from his seat to open the carriage door.

And Mr. Freer stepped out into the lamp light.

Lee's body bristled and he almost ran, just out of instinct, when he realized it was not Mr. Freer. It was his son.

Even as he sighed in relief, he knew that the boy was still a danger. An even larger danger, perhaps: he was Lee's age and could match Lee's strength and agility should he spot him. Lee tucked himself closer around the corner, draping the darkness around him like a cloak... praying his mask would not catch the light.

"Jet!"

The voice broke the dark silence like a bell in a church yard. Lee's heart leapt into his throat; oh, the words he would speak to her, the way he would hold her and kiss her... how he loved her!

And suddenly there she was, running down the stairs onto the pathway. She was like unto Venus in his eyes, wearing a lilac green gown and white gloves, jewels in her hair and jewels around her neck... her eyes were bright in a joyous meeting, he could almost feel her body against his chest...

He knew she was not running to _his_ embrace, for she did not even know he was there... but even as he watched the scene unfold before him, something happened he did not expect.

The light that was in her eyes... she looked so happy. Never before had he seen her so happy. And her smile... blissful laughter adorned her lips like a wreath. But her eyes and her smile were not for him.

They were for the boy, Mr. Freer's son. Jet.

With a knot in his stomach, Lee watched Katara launch herself into Jet's open arms. The boy's smile was triumphant; he laughed in her hair and swept her from her feet. He twirled her about in their embrace, shooing the coachman aside in surprise. The way she clung to his neck and he to her waist struck Lee's chest like a knife.

"Katara..." Jet sighed, and set her down but she would not let him go. She held him close; they rocked slowly with lingering laughter escaping into the eachother's hair and breast. His fingers stroked that hair, caressed her shoulders... How tender he was, and how contented was she to stay there in his arms. Lee gripped the corner of the manor with more force. His knuckles began to be white, he was so weak.

"I have missed you so, Jet," Katara murmured, and beamed up into his face.

"I missed you more than the stars can tell," he said back, and brought her hand tenderly to his lips in the fortress of his own. He kissed her palm, then each knuckle, and they chuckled with their noses together.

Lee's throat began to feel dry. He felt his glove slip and so he let go of the wall, coming down to his knees. The night was suddenly so dark, so cold.

"I counted the days until I could come back to you," Jet whispered, but Lee heard it all like a great lion roaring in his ear.

"You did?" Katara laughed, and hugged his neck a second time. And Lee's heart moaned when she turned her head to kiss his cheek.

"I am so glad you could come!"

"So am I. I promised you I would."

In the shadows, he felt a breath of unbelief escape him. He watched Katara squirm at the fact that Jet... he had kept her a promise... a promise to come to her...

He saw not the lamps. He saw no light, except that in Katara's and Jet's eyes. How happy they were... how different she was than the Katara he knew.

"You seem so excited," Jet chortled, and set his hands on her shoulders so he could look at her face.

"I am," Katara said breathlessly. "I am so happy."

They laughed again at the mere explosiveness of her energy; she leapt to give him one last brisk embrace and then secured his hands, pulling him towards the door.

"Come, come, you must eat! The feast is amazing!"

"I am sure it is. Maybe it is the pudding that has you so wild."

"No, it is you. It is definitely you being here." She laughed. "I have not seen you for so long! Oh, Jet, you must tell me everything about the country!"

The knife only pressed deeper into Lee's chest, and now it was twisted by the unseen hand, fishing about for his heart. It did not need to look far. Lee stood, unable to watch any more, and stumbled along the wall until he teetered beneath her window. Around the corner, he listened as Katara's father and brother also stepped out to welcome their guest. Such warm welcomes, such laughter...

The boy in the blue mask collapsed to his knees and wept. Such love! Never before had he seen it like this! Oh, to feel that love, to be loved by such a girl as her! Oh, to be loved... to be loved...

"Katara... Katara..." he wept out of all the weakness he had ever known, all the anger and hurt and fear he had ever felt. He wept not only for Katara but for his entire lifetime. Her adoring and devoted actions were the knife that at last found his waning muscle, and ripped the soft tissue asunder. The blood ran in rivers.

He did not hate her for loving another so wonderfully. He had known she did not love him like she said, and even on his way here he had prepared himself for... but even still... he had not expected it to blow by at such a speed; the chill of her emotions swept by and stung his cheek like a cold slap. Even from the girl he adored, he would not receive the pinnacle of her love, her devotion.

He would not receive such love or devotion from anyone if not from her.

How strange it was... As he had told her, they were both so young. Yet what a presence was love in their life, and what an influence it had. He marveled there in the cold for over an hour, thinking of how she had kissed him two weeks before... yet it was nothing compared to the ecstasy with which she received Jet.

Surely he could never be the center of her heart. He was too much a mystery. It was his own fault; he had not given her his whole self and so could never expect her to either. It was right of her to value her closer friends... closer lovers... and family above him, because really what was he? A dream? He was the wonder that came in the night to lull her to sleep, to enchant a kiss from her lips. He was not a human being to her. He was a figment of magic.

If he gave her his whole self, she would certainly despise him. If he did not, she would always treasure him below another. Either way, her heart was not his. It was never his. He had been a fool to think, to hope, he could ever have it.

No heart was his but his own. Katara was only the beginning; back in the world where he wandered, nothing was his. He had lost everything, and so knew... he knew his heart could weather losing the last bit of happiness he had scavenged.

Scavenged... he was so barbaric. She was right to withhold her whole heart from him. For all she knew, he would tear it to shreds.

_How could I beckon my son to me when instead I would receive a treacherous monster? I asked for the bread of loyalty; you gave me a stone of betrayal. You are no son of mine._

_There is nothing for you out there, my nephew. Only pain._

_A man offers me the edge of his sword, and I know his intentions. But when he offers me his heart, there is little I can know. Be careful, cousin._

Lee cast his eyes upon the garden; swaying in the biting breeze was the remains of a patch of turquoise emerthens, just a few that had survived the cold. Slowly he stretched out his finger to touch a shriveling petal.

A snowflake fell in his palm; it shone for a moment against the blackness of his glove, and melted.

Slowly it's cousins joined it, a perfectly silent cascading of billions of tiny particles. The first snowfall.

With newfound strength, Lee rose to his feet. Carefully he unbound the mask from his face and held it below him, studying it from his own eyes. Taking a step forward, he set it in the grass, breaking the first, light layer of snow.

Lee reached inside him, gathering every particle of energy. He listened to it hum, he felt it burn. In his spirit he compromised the sorrow with the happiness, appeased all emotion, blending all memories and all feelings into one: surrender. In this blissful, neutral state, he waited.

The bending lightning prowled nervously beneath the surface of his skin, and he gave it a helping push.

When he left the manor grounds, never to look back, his mask was gone too. Smoldering, black shards of porcelain peppered the driven snow.

XXX

_The night I finally realized he was never going to come was two months after the fateful solstice. Every night before then I had frozen, crouched at my window in a chair, wrapped in blankets, waiting for nothing but my father to carry me back to bed and close my window in confused sadness._

_"Lee!" I had called that night, when all the guests had gone home and all the dinner was finished. I had raced to my room more joyous than I thought possible. "Lee, are you here? Oh, you could never guess how many times I had to make up a story to excuse my unnatural jubilance; I was so excited to see you, oh, I am so happy! And now finally I can stop making a fool of myself and be yours, all yours... Lee, where are you? Lee, it is all right, you can come out now!"_

_I shed enough tears to fill an ocean; I cast aside the concern of my family, how they would react to my inexplicable behavior, and let myself be swallowed up in despair. For two months I waited and hoped and dreamed and wished and wept, wept... wept..._

_I never saw my boy in the blue mask again._

**END OF PART ONE**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N**: OK, so, you can't exactly hate Lee, or Katara, because it really was all just a big misunderstanding. but ya. i'm screwed anyway.


	12. Part 2: Reunion and Recollection

**PART TWO**

12: Reunion and Recollection

**A/N**: Part 2... ohhhhhhhhhh ya.

XXXX

_The Riversong Family Summer Retreat, 1804_

_Seven years later_

"Is this all you will be needing, Miss Toph?"

The man in a strapping suit held in his hands a simple hand bag and watched the Beifong daughter dismount her steed with unusual grace. Her pale green coat, dress, hat, and veil represented the family color, and her baton featured a tiny family crest at one end.

"Yes, Luc, thank you," she said. "Take the horses around to the back, there is a stable there."

"There is?"

"Are your shoes always so thick? How do you people see in them?"

"My apologies, miss."

"Oh, don't apologize," Toph laughed. "You know I could never get around to anything important without your help."

"You flatter me, miss."

She smirked and straightened her hat, tightening the veil beneath her chin.

"Shall I take your bags inside, miss?" Luc asked.

"Oh, no, Luc; I am not staying here. I am moving on to the royal city once we reach my father's embassy in Porttail. And I shan't be going alone, _that_ I intend to confirm."

"Good luck, miss."

"Oh, don't worry about me. I know this specimen inside and out."

The road they were on was quiet and remote, made of powdery red dirt. It was only as wide as Toph was tall, just enough to fit two carriage wheels, but Toph felt it a nice change from the buslting, rambunctious royal city. To her right was an expansive meadow bearing at it's heart a large, shimmering lake, and to her left was the house.

Hakoda's garden started at the edge of the road, flowers of every shape, size, and color bouncing and bursting to life in tight bundles; not a speck of earth was visible. A simple stone pathway snaked it's way through the garden to the front steps, where a shady veranda extended from the house with small tables and chairs set up beside the windows. As a breeze swept the meadow, gossamer, lavender drapes fluttered out from those windows and brushed the backs of the chairs.

The house itself was relatively small-- compared to the Riversong manor miles away in the valley-- and as white as snow. One half of the roof was made of clear glass so the golden sunlight to spill into the sitting rooms, while the other half was carefully insulated to keep some interior cool and dim.

Of course, Toph could not appreciate the colors or the structure; her blindness prevented that as usual, but with the bottom faces of her shoes torn out, the bare soles of her feet could earthbend continuously throughout the soil and stone, detecting every building, vehicle, or person. She saw what other people with perfect eyesight may not have: the insects crawling along the roots of the flowers, or the contented horses around the back wall of the house pawing lightly at their rations of hay.

Toph crossed the garden on the stone walkway and stood before the front door. After stealing another moment to adjust her hat, she rapped lightly on the mahogany with her baton.

The walls were thin, and Toph's blindness had only given her surpassing hearing, so she could easily make out the conversation within the walls of the home.

_"Katara, would you answer the door for me, please?"_ Sokka's hasty footsteps disappeared into a distant room.

_"Afraid of guests, are we, Sokka?"_ Katara rose to her feet from the nearest sofa.

_"I have guests of my own, if you remember,"_ was his muffled reply. _"I will be there in a moment."_

The brass handle on the door turned. Toph grinned as the hinges were pulled back.

"Is this the residence of the greatest waterbender of our century?" she asked.

"_Toph_!"

Katara flung her arms around her friend and the two laughed joyously together. Beyond all boundaries of affection, Katara would not let her go for several moments; they rocked excitedly in circles, squealing and laughing in delight.

"_Ohhhhh,_ Toph! What on earth are you doing here, oh it's so _wonderful_ to see you!"

"I only hope so, you may want to kill me after you find out exactly what I _am_ doing."

"Nonsense! I have not seen you in ages, oh, gods, just _look_ at you!"

She pulled away long enough to give Toph a swift but meaningful examination; her eyes were wide in amazement, her smile a beam.

"You look fantastic, this coat is beautiful!"

"Oh, it is dreadful. The heat, gods..."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"_Twenty_! But it seems only last year you were nineteen!"

"Well because I was!"

They laughed and embraced again, only for Katara to leap away and pull Toph towards one of the small white tables.

"Oh, sit, sit, we have so much to talk about, so much to hear! I will go fetch some tea."

"Tea, are you mad? It is sweltering! Lemon, I think. Lemon and water, yes, that would be wonderful. And sugar of course!"

"How right you are. One moment, do not make a step, I shall be right back! Oh, wait, what am I doing? Sokka!"

Toph laughed. "Order Sokka around? Now why did I not think of that?"

"It will build his character," Katara replied slyly. "Aang is here visiting as well, he is with Sokka now."

"Aang! Now, _his_ are some steps I have not sensed for years. How is the he, the nugget?"

"Well, just wait, it is quite exciting."

"Did you call me? Oh, Toph! Hello there." Sokka's head was stuck out the open door; he presented himself more formally as he saw her twist in her seat to face him.

"Sokka! So good to sense you again." Toph extended her hand and he kissed it briskly.

"Is your family well?" he asked.

"Fine, thank you. It is not like you to ask," she added facetiously.

"One learns over a period of years," he admitted with a smile.

"Father is ever so cruel to him," Katara joked. "Simply terrible."

"Right. Er, shall I fetch some tea for you ladies?" He asked it with surprising willingness.

"Lemonade, actually, would be wonderful," Toph said.

"Lemonade it is. I will send Aang out as well, he will be thrilled to see you, I am sure."

"Thank you, Sokka," Katara said to his back, as it turned on them and entered the house. Toph shot her an impressed smile and began to remove her hat.

"He is very well behaved; hardly the wisecracking bafoon I remember from years ago."

"I did not entirely lie when I said Father was pressuring him," Katara replied. "When he turned seventeen, expectations were raised significantly."

"So? Did your father take the classic military school approach?"

"Not exactly. Sokka... well, he had made up his mind that this country's military was not in his fancy."

"Hm. Why is that?"

"He has merely taken into priority a more thorough study of politics... particularly our monarchy." The memory flickered across her mind.

_"Father!"_

_"Sokka? What are you doing here, son?"_

_Kana and I stood from the dinner table in amazement._

_He was eighteen and lovely; he had ridden to our manor all the way from the Academy in the royal city against regulation. Every inch of him was drenched in rain. From his pocket he removed the letter my father had forwarded to him not a week ago. The letter from Lu Ten._

_"I knew it from that night," he said. "I knew it."_

_"Knew what? Sokka you should be at the Academy, you are not permitted to leave--"_

_"Zuko, father! He is innocent. I know he is. I knew he had done nothing wrong, I just knew it, from the moment Azula condemned him on that night all those years ago. Why did I not say anything?"_

_My father's crossed the room to his son and took his face gently between his hands._

_"Because... you were not ready to. I had this same talk with Katara two years ago."_

_"You did?" Over Hakoda's shoulder, he looked at me. I could only look back._

_"Yes." My father lowered one hand and touched the corner of the parchment. "You read his letter?"_

_"I did. I trust it, Father, I do. From now on I will do everything in my faculty to remember my obligations to Zuko."_

"Well then, what was done to appease these..._ raised expectations_?" Toph asked.

Katara's eyes flashed and returned to the present. She smiled. "He _did_ go to school. He ended courses with his tutor and went to the Royal Academy to study mechanical engineering and philosophy. He is still attending even today; he just has a two week holiday in the summertime."

"And are you still under a tutor?"

"Only for my waterbending, as Sokka is for his swordplay. But I too have spent time at the Royal Academy."

"It is a remarkably snobbish place, isn't it?"

Katara laughed. "It is a little egotistic... and paranoid. And overachieving."

"I hope neither you nor Sokka was turned into one of them. They are a dangerous species, scholars. Though it seems Sokka is a close case."

"Have your hopes confirmed; I am practically the same, I just know a few more geographical facts is all."

"Useless, by the way. The only way to successfully discover the earth is through the soles of one's feet."

"Touché."

"Have you attended the Royal Academy of _Bending_?"

"Only for a few months; I was instructed for a time by their head waterbending professor, Lord Kuruk."

"We are not so different. I only attended a year. My father hired a more rigorous tutor, whom I have now succeeded."

"Congratulations." Katara grinned. "I am not surprised."

"So, the poseurs at the academy unfortunately had a board stuck down Sokka's shirt?"

Katara laughed. "Slightly, I am afraid. However, when really was the last time he saw you, three years ago? Obviously he is going to be a formal gentleman."

"Have I changed that much?" Toph flipped a loose lock of hair and smiled coquettishly. It was banter, they both knew, but Katara's smile was wily.

"Of course, you know his sweetheart Suki."

Toph's lips pursed. "Of course. I remember her."

Katara tried to stretch her smirk into neutrality. "They have, well, recently discussed marriage, but of course nothing is confirmed."

"Of course. How exciting for them."

Katara could not hold it any longer; she laughed delightfully.

"Oh, Toph, I am sorry, forgive me, I could not help myself."

"Please," Toph laughed as well. "You think I fancy Sokka, do you? Mercy. Never in this lifetime or in lifetimes to come, darling. I was simply playing along for your benefit."

"_Of course_."

They were still giggling when a tall young man entered the veranda. His hair was cropped short, his face kind, and his white coat and trousers pressed so sharply they could puncture a pillow.

"Aang!" Katara stood and put her hand on his shoulder, guiding him to the table. "Toph, you remember Aang, the student of religion?" Appropriately, around his neck was a gold chain and medallion, a symbol of his school and rank.

Toph sensed his height and weight with her feet, setting her eyes in almost exact estimation of where his would be.

"I do remember Aang," she said, and more quickly than her hand could lift, it had been taken in his own. His touch was gentle and welcoming.

"Toph," he said, in a voice she would never have recognized. "It is wonderful to see you again."

She felt his lips on her knuckles; even through her glove, she noticed his sincerity.

"I hardly recognized you," he said, "if you do not mind my saying. You look stunning."

"Well, thank you..." Toph paused, and could have sworn the second it took for his fingers to release hers was longer than usual.

Katara hid a smile. "Toph, Aang has recently received an extraordinary honor. He is the newest Avatar."

"The _Avatar_?" Toph gaped. Aang grinned.

"Just last year, he began training to master all the four elements," Katara said.

"I think this calls for an earthbending sample," Toph chortled. "That is wonderful!"

"I would be happy to sample, but even more pleased to receive some instruction from you," Aang said. "If I may be so forward as to request... well... I am not very good at this..."

Toph grinned. "Certainly, Aang, I would be honored to give you some instruction. Shall we discuss it further?"

"Over dinner?"

Toph blinked. Katara held her hand over her mouth and nose; not the slightest sound of her breathing would disturb what was in motion.

"Well... I see no reason why not," Toph said. Her smile was not the smile Katara was used to seeing. "Over dinner it is. Thank you."

"Thank _you._" Aang bowed shyly and retreated towards the door.

"It was a pleasure seeing you again. Excuse me, I... well, Sokka may need a hand--"

"No need." Sokka appeared at that moment with two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade balanced on a platter. "Your lemonade, ladies."

"Wonderfully done, Sokka," Katara commended, taking her seat as he set the platter on the table before her.

"Anything else you would fancy with that?" he offered. "Bread? Butter?"

"If you really _wanted_ to serve us, I would say yes, bread and butter would be delicious," Toph remarked.

Sokka nodded. "Bread and butter on it's way. Come, Aang."

The two gentleman entered the home, closing the door for the precise moment when Katara could restrain herself no longer.

"_Over dinner_!"

"Shush up."

XXX

The exact aim of Toph's visit was not yet revealed for over an hour, while the many months they had been separated were expounded in detail. In that hour, it had been chiefly Katara's responsibility to ask questions, and Toph's to answer. Katara perhaps thought her own life uninteresting and bland.

"How can quickly and suddenly becoming the most consummate waterbender of the century possibly be bland, Katara Riversong?"

"Is that what they say? Out there in that turbulent, gossip-starved royal city?"

"Not just say; it is the title you have earned. Your name is renown."

"Well, whatever exaggerated flim flam they have buzzing around about me..."

"Oh, stop being such a--"

"It is hardly pragmatic."

"They have all _seen_ you waterbend, Katara; honestly. Your demonstration at the Phoenix Parade was extraordinary! Or so my ears nearly _bled_ from hearing; pardon my incapability to have a personal opinion."

"Toph, truly, my work should not be so glorified."

"And why not?"

"Because it is hardly the euphoric accomplishment they say it is."

"Then what is it? What do _you_ see your work as?"

"Certainly not so rewarding."

"Oh? Well, what determines how rewarding it is?"

"Unfortunately, the source of motivation."

"So are you ashamed of your motivation?"

"Well, no..."

"Embarrassed?"

"No, Toph. It is far more complex than that."

Toph's eyes turned increasingly genuine over the top of her glass. "Is counsel needed?"

"Oh, I do not think I _need_ to talk it out with you..."

"I am more than willing--"

"I know that, Toph, I do."

"I will not pry."

"You have not."

"At least I have tried not to. You interest me, Katara; somehow you are different."

"Am I?"

"Yes. I had a hunch at first but now I know for certain. You just seem... a little _too_ sincere, if that makes any sense to you."

"Some. I think I understand..."

"Hm. Interesting reaction."

"I only... Oh, Toph, I should not be hiding from you behind this same mask"

"What mask, Katara?"

Katara's eyes fell so distant, Toph could not recognize the emotion, even in sensing with her feet. "The mask of my entire career," she sighed. "The mask that hides all... truth. I have become a soulless figure to the public, and I did it mainly to hide what in fact is my soul."

"What is that? Do you want to tell me?"

"Honestly I do not know. I have kept it hidden for so long... how I could even word it escapes me."

"Do not feel constrained; you do not need to say anything. I am only offering my concern."

Katara smiled. "I know. Thank you."

"Honestly though; despite all you might think, you are a waterbending adept, and you should learn to take a compliment on occasion."

Katara laughed heavily. "Yes, you are right, I should. I am sorry."

"Though I can hardly say I dislike your stubbornness. It warms my heart to know you have adopted at least a _trifle_ of my brilliant lifestyle."

Their laughter was interrupted by Sokka's bright, willing face stuck out the doorway.

"More of anything, ladies?"

"No thank you, Sokka," Katara said.

"Mm, do you by chance still have those delicious rock candies?" Toph asked.

"We do. Would you care for a handful?"

"I would, thank you. I admit the palace-robbed candies always seemed sweeter, but these, I am sure, will do splendidly."

"Oh gods, you still remember that?" Katara chortled.

"How could I forget? What better way to spend a dismal Christmas at the sinister palace than plundering their everlasting dishes of succulent bonbons?"

"Wonderfully oxymoron," Sokka agreed.

"We landed ourselves in so much trouble!" Katara said with a grin. "What fun."

"My dear, being caught in _flagrante delicto_ is what makes all the fun," Toph said. "Sokka?"

"Yes, rock candies coming right up, miss." He disappeared back into the house.

Toph giggled. "Oh, all right, I admit I like this new Sokka. No, strike that, I absolutely relish it."

"He is certainly easier to deal with."

"You and your wonderful father must be walking on air."

"More dear Kana than my father and I."

"Oh, Kana. Is she still in buisness?"

"Of course; father could never let her go if not necessary, and there is no where else in this kingdom or any other kingdom she would rather work."

"I know exactly the feeling. Your father always made my visits feel as if I were one of the family. At any rate, it certainly topped any experience of _my_ home. Where is your father? Is he here?"

"No, he is out horseback riding."

"With Mr. Freer? I recall he and your father used to take long, adventurous rides when they were younger."

Katara sighed. "Yes, they did. Unfortunately Mr. Freer... his life was taken in a battle three years ago."

Toph's smile vanished. "Oh. Oh, I am very sorry to hear that. A battle?"

"The usual; he was a Rebel Snatcher, after all. It was dangerous work."

"Yes. I suppose." Toph gnawed her lip for a moment, and Katara stared out at the meadow.

_"Father? What is the matter?"_

_I was stunned. I had lived under his wing nineteen years and yet had never seen my father cry before. And he was there at his desk, his head in his hands, a tear streaking down his nose and into his beard._

_"Father..." I hurried to his side in my night gown and embraced his broad shoulders; the sight of him pained made me tremble. "What is wrong?"_

_"Oh, my darling..." He turned in his seat and took me in his arms. Never before with such desperation had he clutched than at this moment; he rocked me and buried his face in my hair. I felt his tears on my neck._

_"Father?" I felt my own eyes burn. "Please tell me what is wrong."_

_He heaved a great breath and pulled me away, though I stayed as close as I could. His rough fingers caressed his tired, leaking eyes._

_"I knew it would come to this moment," he whispered. "I only underestimated the pain."_

_"What moment, Father?" I reached out to stroke his graying hair._

_On the desk, beneath his elbow, was a letter. He smoothed the parchment over with the palm of his hand._

_"There was a battle... Lu Ten has been murdered."_

_I remember the utter emptiness that filled me; I had not believed him. I had promised myself I would not believe it._

_"No. No that is not true."_

_"At Jedias' hand."_

_The emptiness deepened. No heart rang in my chest; there was only naked space. Void._

_"No. No, no. Father, do not lie to me."_

_"Jedias' life was taken soon after, by an unidentified rebel."_

_I fell upon his neck, kissing his scraggly cheek. "No. Please, Father, no... No, no, no..."_

_Again he gathered me against his chest; I cried softly into his shirt while he kissed me._

_"What are you going to do?" I wept. "Lu Ten... no..."_

_"It has come to me," my father murmured. "I have failed my crossroad. One friend beckoned me down the right path, another beckoned me down the left, and while I stood undecided, they destroyed eachother."_

_"No, Father... it is not your fault..."_

_"How could I have served two masters? When did my heart fall into fear and I sat waiting for the future to come to me?"_

_"You could not have asked yourself to love one and hate the other, Father. You loved them both."_

_"You loved Lu Ten."_

_I hid my face and sobbed. "Yes... I loved him, Father..."_

_He rocked me, clasping me tighter._

_"So did I, Katara. And I loved Jedias. He was my brother." As he held me, I did not know which tears on my cheeks were mine and which were his._

_"You could not have hated Jedias," I whispered._

_"But you do."_

_I stared into his eyes, and then I could look at him no longer. I wept again._

_"Oh, Father..."_

_"I had to choose a road. I had to face my decision sooner or later, and I ran instead. I hid, and hoped blindly."_

_"Hope does not condemn you! You were not a coward!"_

_"No, Katara. I was."_

_"No. No, no... What could you have done? What could any of us done?"_

_"I could ha... have changed something. Jedias... Lu Ten... I could have warned him... I could have stopped..."_

_"No. No, do not say another word."_

_"Oh, Katara... what have I done?"_

_"Nothing... you have done nothing, Father." I meant to defend him._

_"Exactly, love," he whispered. "Exactly."_

"How is your father?" Toph asked quietly and rather reverently.

"He is much better now," Katara said. She looked back at her friend and smiled. "He is a brave man."

"Yes. He is."

Silence reigned. Toph adjusted her gloves, and then spoke.

"And how is Jet?"

"Remarkable," Katara sighed. "He is brave too. So very brave."

"Do I..." Toph slowly smiled mischeviously, "...need any updates of _sentimental _nature?"

Katara laughed. "Oh, have mercy, Toph..."

"That Jet is a striking one; I do not hold you in the slightest of blame.

"Toph! I am _not_ in love with Jet."

"No _longer_ in love with Jet..."

"Oh, gods. Can you forgive a simple, childhood infatuation?"

"Forgive? It was wonderfully entertaining! I have never seen someone _race_bend before; your skin went from olive to scarlet so quickly it was as if cells were being realigned."

"Hush up. It is far past now. I look at Jet in absolutely no romantic context _whatsoever_."

She was indeed serious; Toph could sense it in the earth below her. She laughed.

"Oh, all right. Any _new_ young gentleman I should be hearing about?"

"Not at all," Katara said, almost too quickly. She folded her hands and stared for a moment at the table... then cleared her throat and smiled.

"Now, forgive me, I have strayed us far off subject. What is the purpose of your coming, other than to see the long lost friends you miss so terribly?"

Toph smiled impishly with careful lips. "Katara, may I ask something of you?"

"Of course," Katara said cautiously. "Toph?"

Her friend rose gracefully to her feet, straightening her coat.

"I challenge you to a bending battle, Katara Riversong. Will you accept, or refuse, like the coward I know you are not?"

Katara's eyebrow arched. Confusion remained but it was flooded with satisfaction.

"You know me well, Toph Beifong. I would sooner die than refuse."

XXX

Their duel was simple but clever. They moved off the veranda to the right side of the house, where open space was provided. While Toph had given much credit to Katara's skill, the might of her own hand had not been in every respect mentioned. In reality, they were both masters of their own element.

"Nothing too fancy at first," Toph commented. "The beginning moves are no more than handshakes with your opponent. Consider it your advantage if they think otherwise."

Neither of them stepped without a two foot boundary of their stance. This proved to be Toph's advantage: the majority of her attacks and defenses originated in her feet, which were so conveniently concealed beneath her skirt. Her tactics also did not require wide motion for execution at that stage of the battle.

"Extravagance is your greatest enemy in battle," Katara said. "Let your adversary work for you. Make their weaknesses your strengths."

Slowly the duel progressed in intensity. Chivalry turned to aggression. Mercy turned to justice. Still they remained stationed in one dominant stance, only stepping to the right or left when necessary. Toph drew earth from the meadow around them, and Katara drew water from the well just ten meters from the home in the shade of a tree.

"Do not seek to destroy, but to neutralize," Katara remarked. "Defeat not the enemy but the desire to defeat. Your only concern is your own strength."

"Master the mind, and master the tongue," Toph stated. "Then will you master the body, and all it's complexities. For all action is birthed in thoughts and words, and they are the most irrational of all."

Blocks of earth, streams of water. Carved ravines, frozen spears. Thick walls of protection, ice spheres of defense. Back and forth, one at a time; all together, all at once. The battle surged, but not a spot of terrain was spoiled beyond repair. Not a drop of water or a particle of dirt blotted their clothing. While all was chaos, all was also serene. No danger, only focus. No opposition, only collaboration.

"Stop," Toph ordered. The earth reassembled itself, lumps and heaps of meadow coming together at the turn of her wrists like puzzle pieces. Katara's water spiraled upward like a falcon in flight, and plummeted back into the dark well.

"We have reached our target," Toph announced. "Unity. That is the ultimate accomplishment of the warrior: not having to war at all. Well done, Katara."

"You as well, Toph."

Formally they bowed to eachother, and then applause started up from the veranda. They turned in surprise to see Sokka and Aang in considerate observation. Their clapping ceased and Sokka held up a small dish.

"A marvelous display of talents, ladies. Rock candies?"

XXX

"So... am I correct in thinking that duel was not a sporadic jest but actually had something to do with my question?" Katara asked.

"Of course," Toph said while crunching. "I had to make absolute sure you were fresh enough for my proposal."

"Proposal?"

"Yes. I told you earlier that I am stopping here on my way to Porttail, where my father awaits with his fellow peacocks, did I not?"

"Well, on the whole, yes."

"And from there we are traveling to the royal city."

"Aye. What buisness do you have there?"

"As a matter of fact, that is my answer to your question. I am sure you are familiar with this, but I will tell you anyway. Every three years, the Royal Academy of _Bending _organizes the Tournament of the Masters, where all senior students and graduates of two years are welcome to compete in teams. Each team features one bender of every element. At first, there is a week-long audition period, where then the final teams are decided and the tournament officially begins, etcetera, etcetera, you know all this."

"Yes..." Katara's eyes narrowed. "What of it?"

"Well, since I am a previous student of the academy-- and my father happens to be one of the richest men in our province-- I have been approved a place in the tournament."

"Toph, you will be perfect!"

"Of course, I need a team." Toph took a careful drink of lemonade as Katara's smile faded. "I informed the academy via letter that I could crop up all team members but a firebender, since I am not familiar with any credible at the moment. They will handle that."

"Toph..."

"Well... I did a little research and discovered you had spent some time there at the Academy of Bending, and that you qualified to take part as well."

"Toph--"

"Katara, I have come to request that you join my team for the tournament."

Katara put her hand over her eyes. "Oh, gods..."

"Oh, Katara, you must consider it, please!" Toph leaned forward across the table. "Did you not see us dueling? We were extraordinary! The two of us alone could annihilate any opposition without taking a breath."

"Toph, did I _dream_ that whole previous conversation? My publicity is not something I take full pride in! The last thing in my interest would be to flaunt it about in a juvenile tournament!"

"It is not juvenile, Katara, the Royal Academy of Bending is indeed the _Royal Academy_ _of Bending_. This is not like the Phoenix Parade, a jovial excuse to get drunk; this is serious athletics. A tradition that goes back generations."

"Oh, do not play the tradition card with me, Toph, please."

"I did not think it would work anyhow. Please, Katara? Will you only consider it for me? I will have you know that I did not enter the tournament out of preference; they sent me such an official invitation it seemed the palace used half it's tax payments just to print it. I felt if I refused, the entire bloody castle would implode."

"Well, _I_ received no invitation, and I am singularly relieved at that."

"You are receiving one now, from me. I ask you as a friend; a friend who desperately wants to liquidate every measly, conceited scholar who will dare oppose us."

Katara sighed, but could not help chuckling.

"Who else do you have in mind?" she mumbled.

"For waterbending?"

"Anyone."

"Well, now that I think about it, Aang would be a brilliant airbending choice."

"Has he received an invitation?"

"I am sure he has, but I have yet to inquire. Can you just imagine it? Toph Beifong, Katara Riversong, and _Avatar Aang_. Gods! I could bend an entire mountain out of the ground just thinking about it!"

"Do you think they would allow the Avatar to compete on just one team? Or to compete at all?"

"As long as he commits to just one element, I cannot see any reason why not. If anyone is qualified, he is. Could you see them now denying the Avatar a place?"

"It would take quite a lengthy spine, I admit."

"Just listen to them, Aang, they cannot keep you out of conversation!"

"Sokka!" Katara scolded.

Sokka and Aang entered the veranda at that moment. They had packs on their shoulders, including muskets, and were dressed in more casual attire.

"Ladies," Sokka corrected himself with a bow, "we will now be leaving to do some light hunting in the wood. Toph's coachman Luc will be inside to accommodate you if needed."

"Thank you, Sokka, seeing as we are completely helpless." Katara wrinkled her nose and he only shrugged.

"Goodbye, Toph, and Katara," Aang said.

"Be safe," Katara answered.

"Goodbye, Aang."

"If I may inquire..." Sokka turned again on his heel, "what exactly _were_ you talking about?"

"The Tournament of the Masters," Toph said enthusiastically before Katara could intercept control. "I have received an invitation to compete and I was respectfully asking that Katara join my team."

"Really?" Sokka looked thoroughly amazed. "Katara, I hope you are not passing up such a golden opportunity."

"It is not golden," Katara snapped. "It is commercial."

"But you are so qualified," Aang countered. "Why, they would all be idiots not to officially invite you. Have they not?"

"No," Katara said firmly, "and it is only best that way."

"Why are you so closed-minded?" Sokka leaned against the staircase banister for more comfortable conversation. "You and Toph competing side by side? I tremble with fear just being an audience member."

"Sokka--"

"Aang, have you received an invitation?" Toph interrupted with a hopeful tone.

"I have," Aang said modestly. "I was considering it; if it would fuse well with my universal training, and if it would grant positive publicity."

"See? Now we hear some sense." Katara folded her arms. "Caution instead of launching in just for the sake of glory."

"I am not launching in for the sake of _glory_," Toph objected coldly, and then turned back to Aang. "Would it make your decision process any easier if I were to humbly request you compete on our team?"

Katara's mouth dropped. "_Our_ team?"

Aang's face brightened considerably. "I am honored. Would you have me?"

"Did she not just ask?" Sokka nudged him.

"Of course we would," Toph said, and blushed only slightly. "I would choose no other."

"Neither would I..."

"Hold, hold, hold." Katara stood in her seat. "Now, really, I do not appreciate that I--"

"Ho there!"

She was cut short and all faces turned to acknowledge the new voice: a boy in embellished servant attire, calmly standing beside an equally fancy horse, held in his outstretched hand an envelope.

"An invitation from the royal palace to Miss Katara Riversong."

Sokka was first to speak, gesturing with his hand. "Bring it here, lad."

The boy marched forward and placed the envelope in Sokka's hand. "Thank you, sir. That is all, sir."

Katara looked up to notice several bags of letters hanging on the horse's saddle. The boy leapt with surprising agility onto the steed's back and kneed it into a full gallop back down the dirt road.

"Well, well..." Sokka turned the envelope over to read the address, and then passed it to Katara. "You received no invitation, is that what you said?"

Katara tore through to the parchment, and read with growing surrender.

"They even apologized for the late notice," she said. "Gods, it is fate."

"Amen!" Toph beamed and popped a rock candy of victory into her mouth. "May I ask you a second time, Katara?"

Katara lowered the parchment to reveal a tight, threatening smile. "I will consider it."

XXX

_The wind swept across the low hills like the hair of a goddess fanning out along her pillow. While the grass trembled and the leaves in the trees swayed, I stared out at my own curled fingers that lay motionless beside my bed spread._

_The palm of my outstretched hand was empty, the cage of my fingers never to be filled. It was not as I expected._

_On the horizon of grass before my eyes where I laid, beyond the safety of the dark wood, the high moon sculpted the sillouhette of my cousin. Lu Ten was pacing calmly on his watch, hand clasped regularly at his sword, his cloak fluttering at his boots. A usual sight to behold at this hour, waking from yet another restless sleep._

_My uncle's presence was absent, but I knew he had left moments before to gather more stones to heat. With our reputation, it was not wise to burn fires to keep warm. Invisibility was our survival._

_I climbed groggily to my knees. The wind was cold and I was scantily dressed in only trousers. Rising to my feet, I strapped on my boots and belt, pulled a loose shirt over my naked chest, and wrapped a scarf about my neck. Spring was upon us, but winter had never been a submissive spirit._

_Lu Ten had heard me dressing; he knew I was at his side long before I spoke. He was still inches taller than I, but only just. While I let the cold wind awaken me, brushing a hand through cragged hair, he breathed it in with a satisfied breath, and I marveled silently._

_"Forgive me," I whispered. "I slept later than usual."_

_"Actually, you are early."_

_"I... awoke from a dream."_

_"And what did you dream?"_

_I sighed and shivered, gathering my arms tightly at my breast. "I dreamt... my hands were filled. Filled with something, I could not identify what... something dark. And I had to relinquish it, before it hurt me."_

_Lu Ten was silent, and I watched his tightly curled hair slice into the glowing moon as the breeze willed it._

_"Are your hands empty now?" he asked._

_"Yes."_

_He smiled at me. "Then you should not be concerned."_

_His face turned back to the moon; he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His smile remained. I said nothing._

_"It is so strange," he murmured._

_"What is?"_

_"The night... I feel like it is speaking. Can you hear that?"_

_I listened, but all I heard was the usual chirping of insects, and the overwhelming silence of the wilderness._

_"It is my watch now," I whispered. "Go sleep."_

_"I can feel it, Zuko," he purred. I was amazed at his contentment. "Like the breath of fire. Something is going to happen tonight."_

_"Lu Ten, give me your sword. Please go get some rest."_

_My hand gently but securely closed on his wrist. He did not move._

_"Zuko..." he whispered._

_"Yes?" I leaned in towards his neck, trying to hear his voice that had now become softer than the breeze._

_"When it happens... I want you to find my father and go. I have to stay."_

_"What are you talking about, Lu Ten?"_

_His arm flexed in my fingers as if trying to lift upward, but I was holding it firm, and it could not._

_And suddenly, he was gone._

_Something flew beside us so swiftly and sharply it seemed to slice the air in half. Lu Ten was thrown back with a groan from my side; I heard him land hard on the ground, all in a fraction of a second. My muscles were just unfreezing when I realized what had happened._

_"Lu Ten!"_

_While I remained standing in astonishment, he climbed weakly to his knees and tore an arrow from his shoulder._

_A second time, the sound of pure speed and accuracy piercing the silent wind made my skin bristle. Another arrow, then a third, then a fourth... They struck the grass and trees with only enough miscalculation to spare my life; the sleeve of my shirt was torn by a fifth._

_At last, through the painful moments of shock, I found my strength. I leapt to my bed spread and pulled from within the blanket my broad swords. The minute their hilts were safe in my fingers, I felt I had wrapped around me the cloak of a new identity. It gave me power and banished all fear._

_Into battle I raced with pleasure. Another volley was launched towards us, and it was in moments shredded mid-path. I felt the shards of arrows tumble about me like rain. _

_"Zuko."_

_The name was spoken quietly but with intensity, as if to hide it from exposure. Lu Ten was suddenly at my side, his own sword drawn._

_"Find my father and go. Now."_

_"No."_

_"Zuko!" he hissed, as we continued swinging our blades in defense. The men were beginning to arise from the brush; their dark figures were tall, and greater in number than I had anticipated._

_"It is my fault they are here," I whispered. "They followed me. Let me face them."_

_His body swept into my path, and the severity that blazed from his eyes almost shook my resolve._

_"They are not here for you," he said._

_And with a fierce cry, he ran to meet our attackers. I had no more choice to follow him than I had to stop my heart from beating._

_My blade sliced in two any bow lifted against me; they were substituted with swords of their own that I gladly crossed. Three men were dispatched at my feet, and through the brush I could hear a dozen more. In my peripheral I kept Lu Ten in check; his sword was a beam of the moon stolen from the sky and fastened into his hand; our tactics reflected our relation as cousins; at times we delivered identical blows simultaneously. The dark, cloaked men were falling before us. But our favor was not to last._

_Even more were emerging now, from every tree and every shadow possible, more than I thought ever traveled as one. They advanced so aggressively despite our obvious superiority as warriors; soon, I knew their numbers would be enough to overpower our expertise. _

_Five strayed from the mass and came directly to me; two more joined them soon after. I had handled more their number at a time before, but it had been in broad daylight, and I had use of other faculties I was forbidden to apply here, as a fugitive._

You must never firebend while your identity remains a threat, _Lu Ten had said. _It is a larger part of that identity than you realize.

_At first it seemed I could last. Lu Ten was just as oppressed as I was, and possibly more so. If I could get to his side, if we could operate as one fighter, our chances of survival would all the more flourish. Yet just as my strength received color, so did my enemy's quantity. I felt my arms burning; I spun in every direction, fighting every sort of weapon that was lifted to strike me, but I was doomed to be overwhelmed._

_The edge of an arrow sliced from the back of my right thumb, across the veins in my knuckles, to my wrist. The sword in that hand fell to the earth, and I had not the time nor the strength to retrieve it. Each second was another assault; every moment carried terrifying value._

_In the last stretches of my vigor, I caught Lu Ten's eye sharp with desperation. I suspected we mirrored eachother exactly._

_"Do not!" he cried, and even as he did, he fought his aggressors. "I will come to you!"_

_If we were to live, I had to._

_In a precious instant, no more than a few seconds, I breathed in a different breath than just the air; the scent in my nose and the taste in my throat was not of the pine or the grass... but fire. Beautiful, powerful fire that would save us both..._

_"Zuko, NO!"_

_A sharp grip closed around my fists, forcing them into the earth. As my knees collided with the ground, smoke hissed and twisted through my fingers, rising with the smell of burned flesh. Lu Ten's hands trembled to hold mine down._

_Suddenly, I heard above the chaos his sickening gasp._

_I pried my neck upwards, to look my cousin straight in the face._

_His eyes... It was as if they were swallowed up in another world; like blindness had taken them instantly. His lips parted, and a stream of blood spilled onto his chin._

_"Zuko! Lu Ten!"_

_My uncle cried to us from a distance behind me; the men surged to him now. I heard his growls of vicious attack._

_I looked back at my cousin._

_Over the top of Lu Ten's shoulder, I could see it._

_The sword dove into his spine at a careless angle. It did not protrude from his chest, and there was a chance it had missed his heart. It seemed perverse how quickly my heart shifted from horror and despair to hope._

_"Lu Ten..." I forced one hand free from his and clutched the side of his face, trying to call his eyes to mine; trying to resurrect what life I knew had been in them before, and had now been stolen._

_"Lu Ten!"_

_Before another word could be said, the sword was wrenched violently from his body. My blood shivered at the sound. My cousin's eyes blinked slowly, lashes touching lashes one last time, before he fell, pale and bloody, to the grass._

_"Lu Ten!"_

_"We are finished here," a cold, familiar voice said. In his hand was the sword stained with my cousin's blood._

_"No," I gasped. "Not you."_

_"Zuko..."_

_I stared at Lu Ten's white face; the serenity that crossed it now was more than I could bear._

_"Find my father," he whispered._

_"Lu Ten! Zuko!" Iroh continued to fight his way towards us, but it was too late._

_"He is still alive, sir," one man warned; he had not gone to attack Iroh but had stayed behind with his commander._

_My cousin's murderer turned back, and put down his hood._

_Jedias Freer's face was as a hand engulfed in flame, slowly closing around my heart, withering it down to nothing but black ash._

_Moving his sword to his other hand, he reached into his belt and drew forth a pistol._

_"Zuko..." Lu Ten's hands grasped my shirt for support; he clambered weakly to his knees._

_"No!" I lunged to throw myself at the gun, but I was batted aside by the hilt of a sword. My vision swam and my senses collapsed._

_"In the name of Ozai, King of Avatryal," Mr. Freer murmured, "I do away with this traitor."_

_The pistol's smooth, silver muzzle was set against Lu Ten's brow. My cousin only closed his eyes._

_The explosion of gunpowder that ended his life began mine._

_Stunning, bright fire swelled all around me, pouring from every inch of my skin. I saw, heard, smelled clearer than ever. Never had I known such life, such energy._

_The grief steered my actions; I spun on my shoulders, bending the flames into a spiraling frenzy that devastated the battle ground. Simmering blackness replaced the emerald grass._

_Mr. Freer's cloak was singed; as he batted out the flames, he stared at me in disbelief._

_"Prince Zuko?"_

_I screamed and swung my swords at his neck with all my might--_

_The man who had stayed behind deflected my attack with his own sword. In the blazing flames that were rapidly engulfing the surrounded wood, we battled for mere seconds before I eliminated him. Turning to Mr. Freer, I gathered fire from the surrounding trees and wrapped it around my blades; they were beams of the sun, harnessed into my grasp._

_"It cannot be you," Mr. Freer gasped._

_I charged him and swiped his garment up upon my sword, driving it into a nearby tree. The flames blazed at the side of his face; he stood helpless and trapped, and pale with fear._

_"Look closer if you must!" I leveled our faces: his gaze strayed to my left eye, the crumpled, pink skin that surrounded it... the scar of a face immersed in flame._

_At the sight of my mark, his lip curled in disgust._

_"You will not kill me," he hissed._

_"Is that a chance you yearn to take?" I snarled._

_"You could not face your own father. You could not even resist the words from his mouth. You hid your face from him; your disgraceful features he only sees in nightmares."_

_Something inexplicable happened then._

_The hotter my blood boiled, the weaker I became. The inferno that surrounded us was slowly shriveling into the earth. I remember the look in my cousin's eyes, the peace with which he met his fate._

_The peace overwhelmed me against all knowledge of my nature. Contrary to everything I had thought I was, everything I regularly felt or desired, I fell into calm, like a sea resting after wild storms. So much potential power still quivering on the surface of my skin, yet no desire to use it._

_"My cousin has given everything for me," I said. "And now I shall give everything for him. I give away all hunger... all thirst... of my own desire, and submit in its place only his desire. In the name of Lu Ten, rightful Crown Prince of Avatryal, I give you your life."_

_I tore the sword from the tree and in the same motion cast Mr. Freer to the ground. I then turned my back to his heaped figure and made way for Lu Ten's body. But it was gone._

_The fright was dispelled with my uncle's voice._

_"Zuko! Here!"_

_Iroh was atop one of our horses, holding the second by it's reins. Cradled against his chest, at his usual place in our travels, was Lu Ten's lifeless body. His eyes had been closed._

_"Zuko!" Iroh screamed suddenly. "Behind you!"_

_I spun about at instinct and lifted my swords in defense--_

_The pistol in Mr. Freer's hand that had been pointed at my head was knocked out of angle by the edge of my blade. His hand was cut, and in surprise he gripped the trigger..._

_The accidental shot rang into his own breast, and he fell._

_"Father! We found another encampment, just sou--"_

_I turned to see a young man, cloaked and hooded and armed, no older than myself, stop dead in his tracks as he cast his eyes about the scene. Comrades also halted at his back._

_"Father?"_

_Jet._

_I ran fast enough to beat the alarm that would slowly paralyze my limbs. I ran through dying flames, and they did not burn me. At last I leapt onto my waiting horse and turned back just long enough to see..._

_Jet collapsed at his father's side._

_"Father!"_

_"Prin..." Mr. Freer's dying lips barely moved. "Pri..."_

_"What? Father, what are you saying?" Jet wept in confusion._

_"Z... Pr..."_

_As Mr. Freer died, I kneed my horse into a fierce gallop, and Jet's howl of despair ripped through the wood at my back._

In his dark, cellar dormitories, Prince Zuko woke with a start.

XXXXX

**A/N**: Just a happy chapter to put you in a cheerful mood. ;) thanks for reading and pleaz review!! More Part 2 coming... yeeesssshhhhhhhh.


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